Brothers
by Lady-Knight Writer
Summary: Loki was never taken from Jotunheim. Between caring for his younger brothers and trying to rule a broken kingdom without provoking an insane Laufey, he can barely keep up. Establishing diplomatic relations with Asgard is the last thing he wants to do, but the only thing that can save his people.
1. Remember the Proverb

**[EDITED by aylithe and reposted February 1st, 2015]**

**[EDITED AGAIN by aylithe and reposted February 9th, 2015]**

**Okay, I'm posting the first chapter of the revised version a little earlier than I thought that I would. This is mostly because I want to see if everyone likes the new direction. The writing style is a little more formal, and the story as a whole will be less dialogue-driven. Serious attention will be paid to character development and a "show-don't-tell" method of cultural exploration/world-building. So a quick reminder: the original rules of this story are still in effect. My guidelines (no slash, no explicit/M-rated content, good Loki, and pairings take a backseat to the plot) still stand, but the plot is only loosely developed and only up to a certain point. This story is for you, and I want _you_ to be a part of it. You guys review or PM me your suggestions and what you want to see in the story, and I try my best to write it in. At least make it a challenge for me! **

**Shout-outs to:**

** aylithe, who gave me the honest criticism I really needed to start working the bugs out of my writing. Never have I been so grateful to anyone for not sugar-coating the truth. aylithe has been very kind and helpful to me, and has sacrificed personal time to give me advice.**

**PeaceHeather**** for her constructive review and mini-commentary on the story, which helped me see the readers' perspective. **

**fan girl 666**** and thepheonixandthedragon4ever, for their unwavering support and constructive reviews.**

**Multifaceted Melancholi****c, for reviewing in those first chapters and snapping me back on point with Loki's character. **

**AllieSnow**** and Armand, my lovely guest reviewers who have been keeping up with this story even through all the rocky bits. Thanks, guys!**

**I will put a serious effort into posting a chapter once or twice a week. I know it was more, before, but then I was more focused on meeting a deadline for practice than actually writing a story.**

**Multiple versions of this chapter were actually of Loki's birth, but each version was either clogged up with unnecessary dialogue or tedious in its description. In the end, it didn't contribute to the story or really make for a good opening. So this is what you get.**

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**Chapter One: Remember the Proverb**

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_An intelligent heart acquires knowledge, and the ear of the wise seeks knowledge._

– Proverbs 18:15

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Odin had never seen a jötunn infant before that day. A few children, yes, but not an infant.

He was surprised by its size. It was even smaller than Thor had been— lighter, lacking in the good fat that he should have been born with, and with a cough rattling in his thin chest. The babe he now held in his arms had to be a newborn, and yet, it was alone and abandoned (perhaps for its size, but Odin would not presume to understand the workings of the jötnar). One of the Einherjar had slain an unarmed priest (or at least a jötunn who _seemed_ to be a priest), and the deep, navy-purple frost giant blood had pooled around the corpse and spattered across the babe's swaddling cloth. Odin had strictly told the Einherjar to stay away from the temple, but someone had obviously been in a bloodthirsty rage —they would be punished when he found out who it was. The priest had no weapon at his side, nor ice at his hands, and yet he lay face down against the stone, his chest and torso slit open by an Aesir blade. Odin frowned, lips curling down. Whoever had done this would pay dearly when he found them out. Such savagery was cruel and unnecessary. This was an army, not a band of mercenaries, and they would be soldiers, not butchers.

The babe cried, shuddering and rasping for breath. It was unfit, sickly. The priest's body was so close, and it made no sense to desert the child in such a frequented place as a temple, but Odin could no see the fierce giants ever being gentle with this frail child.

And then a sudden foolishness overcame him. It was just a silly notion that came to mind, but for a moment, he took it seriously. Perhaps, if he could disguise the child, he could take it back to Asgard, to Frigga. She had been wishing for another babe, but Thor's birth had been so difficult for her. This would be perfect, if the child lived. Odin was sure that it could be nursed back to health. It was not so far gone, yet.

Blood dripped from his empty eye socket —it felt so shockingly hollow and painful that his whole head ached for it— and landed on the babe's forehead. Odin tenderly wiped it away with his calloused thumb, humming softly. This babe felt in his arms as Thor had; the blue skin did not keep him from seeing that it was only an infant, just as vulnerable and innocent as Thor.

Yes. Yes, he would take it back to Asgard, and this small child would be his second heir. And maybe, just maybe, he could raise the child to one day return to Jotunheim and be their catalyst for peace. Raising two would not be harder than raising the one he already had. He would take the babe home and call it his and no one other than Frigga and Heimdall would ever know. Well, and perhaps the healer, Eir. If they had to falsify a pregnancy, Eir could be trusted to keep the matter confidential.

Just as he made the decision and began to turn, he stilled. Old words entered his mind, wisping along in a distant memory of his days as a prince when he was tutored in the writings of Eskarr to his son Magad, the first Asgardian to travel all of the Nine Realms.

_All manner of men and beasts do know better than to take a jötunn child from its place, no matter how alone it might seem. This, my dear son, you would do well to remember, for there is only one thing more terrible in ire than the Deceiver, and that is jötnar bereft of their offspring._

There was more to it, of course, other words that Odin had long forgotten and would never be able to recall, but he_ did_ remember those simpler words of warning. Someone would come back for this child, a sire or a dam, and they would mourn if they found a bloodstained swaddling cloth without the babe that it belonged to. Surely, they would think that the Aesir took it, or killed it. Odin could not have that weight upon his conscience, and he could not tear a child away from its parents.

He looked back down at the jötunn child, so frail and breakable in his hands, and, with no small measure of trepidation, kneeled down and nestled the babe against the priest's still-warm body, wrapping it in the folds of the ornate robes. The babe only wailed more fiercely at being set aside, and Odin winced as the sound pierced his heart. He was a _king_ and he would_ not_ turn his gaze away, he was stronger than that— _oh_.

Odin could not say that he understood much about jötnar —he had never spent time with them beyond the battlefield— and he knew nothing of their culture or of their physiology, but he had seen enough of them with his own eyes to know the meaning of the markings upon their skin. The markings on the babe's forehead were nearly identical to Laufey's. Not a perfect match, but nearly. Odin was intelligent enough to make the connection.

"Grow wise, young prince," Odin said softly, "so that we two might meet one day in peace."

He stroked a thumb against the markings on the babe's cheek. These were very different from Laufey's, more prominent and sharp, and Odin would assume that these were from the child's dam. Whoever she was. He had heard that Laufey had a queen but he had never seen her nor heard tale of her presence on the battlefield. She was either lost or dead. Perhaps by his own hand, but he did not entertain that idea. He did not want to think of any child being motherless.

The babe's cries finally diminished into soft whimpers. Odin, by impulse, leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the infant prince's markings, just as he might have kissed his own son. "Bless you, little one."

And then, with a pain in his heart for turning away, Odin left, but the child's feeble cries would not soon be leaving his mind.

**ooOOOoo**

Farbauti was not queen because she was Laufey's wife. She was queen for her compassion and kindness, and for her strength. She may have seemed meek to some, but she was a woman of power, and she used that power well. Laufey had always said that that was why people loved her, but she knew what he really meant: _This is why **I** love you. Among other reasons. I have_ _told you this before._

But he had not spoken such words to her in what seemed like an eternity.

No measure of power, though, could quell the fear that twisted in her gut. She had left her newborn with Nál, Laufey's brother, and she trusted Nál, but she could see the temple from the distance and how it crumbled. The Aesir had left, but the city still cracked and fell around them. Had the Casket been left in its proper place, or at least taken with the proper preparations, this wouldn't be happening. Jötunn structures were _strong_. But the energy was gone. Their Relic had been stolen, and the first thing to lose power was the stone itself.

She ran. Her feet splashed in puddles of blood, staining her skin dark with an off-purple. She leapt over twisted bodies, not looking at their faces, not wanting to know if she knew them. Later, she would know, and she would count up the friends she had lost to this pointless war and mourn, but not now. _Not now_.

She needed to find her son. She needed to know that he was alive. Everything else would have to wait.

Nál would protect her son to his dying breath, and that was why Farbauti had left the babe with him. But Nál was no warrior. Once upon a time, he had been a fighter, training as a prince alongside Laufey, but he had not participated in _any_ kind of training for centuries. He was a gentle soul who, whilst brave, could not stomach killing. He didn't even like to hunt. So, yes, he would lay down his life for her son, and he would fight until they killed him, but _his_ fight might not be enough.

There was a reason that she had forbidden him from joining the soldiers, and if Laufey were of his right mind, he would not have allowed it either.

She flew up the temple stairway –too many steps, too many damn steps between her and her child– uncaring that her lungs burned with every breath, and that she felt like collapsing. The temple was, in comparison to the rest of the city, in decent form, but she would not let that fool her. There was blood on the stairs, the vibrant red of Asgardian blood and the dark periwinkle of jötunn blood, and a broken spear. The temple had been invaded and people had died.

_Not my son._

The Asgardians had wielded great power and had almost torn down the city, but the temple was almost whole. It had seen invasion, and death, but not much in the way of damage. The entrance had a deep crack in its forward façade, like a lightning bolt; Farbauti considered it a small blessing.

A single body was splayed face down on the polished floor, surrounded by blood. Odd, that there was only one. Farbauti stepped closer cautiously. The Asgardians had left, but an injured or dying jötunn warrior was its own danger. They were trained to fight, and if this one was still alive he could hurt her if she… But, no. There was too much blood. If he was still alive, it was a miracle. Or a curse. If he was alive, then he would not remain so for long. She could not save him.

She was just close enough to make out the exposed heritage marks that climbed up the back of his neck —an odd place for them; most giants did not have markings on their necks— when she realized who she was looking at.

The air rushed out of Farbauti's lungs so quickly that she had not the chance to scream, and her feet grew as heavy as stones against the floor. It was Nál, the last family that she had left other than her son, and he lay dead against the polished stone. The blood —there was so much blood; just how much did a giant carry?— was half-dry around him, steadily turning into cold, thick paste.

Fear coiled up like a snake, wrapping itself around Farbauti's heart and squeezing ittight_._

She ran a few awkward paces and nearly slammed against Nál's body as she fell down beside him. Her hands trembled as they pressed against his robes, searching beyond hope for some sign of life. Maybe not Nál's life (no, there was so much blood and the corpse had chilled and gone stiff; there was no hope left for him), but for the tiny, frail creature she had entrusted Nál to protect.

"Please. Please, please, please, no… not my boy… _not _my boy!"

She had lost Nál. She had lost her parents, and who knew how many friends in this battle. She could give up Laufey, if pressed. His madness was consuming and he barely recognized her on most days. But not her boy. She had yet to even give him a name. She would _not _lose him, _no_. No. Not tonight.

Suddenly, there was a rasping cry, something that was so weak and quiet. She couldn't have heard it, shouldn't have— her ears were still ringing from a crack to her head and the noise of battle, but she _did_ hear it.

Farbauti moved over Nál's body. Her legs were shaking too much for her to stand, and her right foot was caught in ties of Nál's robes, but she managed to clamber over his corpse. It was difficult, for he was big, even for a giant— nearly ten feet tall with broad shoulders that so contrasted from Laufey's leaner frame. Farbauti was Halfkind, and could not even boast _six _feet. One hand landed in the coagulated blood, and even as it gripped viscous and sticky against her skin, she could not pull back. This was all the balance that she had, even if it was against her good friend's carcass.

As soon as she saw the two gleams of red peeking out from the folds of fabric, Farbauti nearly screamed. Or sobbed. It was all in relief. The tears came either way, and her shortness of breath would not allow any screaming to take place. She fished her son out from his hiding place and cradled the tiny babe to her body, opening her fur-lined coat to slip him inside. Instantly, the babe's mewling was silenced, and he clasped onto a breast to feed. That was good. At least he could eat. She had seen babes too distraught to feed, and they had nearly starved themselves in their distress.

Farbauti let out a few breathless laughs, but it was not in humor. There was relief there, for her son, but the sensation of sick revulsion began to sink in when she realized that she was sitting against her closest friend's corpse. Her skin prickled as she slowly moved away, blood smearing across the floor in her wake. She shuddered at the sight of it. Her father had been a healer and blood had never bothered her before today, not even her own blood, but this was _Nál_, and it was _his_ lifeblood she was coating the stone with.

She looked away —never let it be said that Queen Farbauti was squeamish— and cradled her son inside her cloak. He wriggled under her hold but did not stop feeding. He was too hungry. Too tired. He had been lying here for quite a while, but a restless babe would not sleep unless exhaustion forced it to. Now, though, he would sleep. Safe in his dam's arms, he would find respite.

Tears still dripped down Farbauti's cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered, and she trembled. This was half the reason why Laufey could never stand to see her cry. Or, at least, that was what he told her. That the way she shook was unnatural, and it always reminded him of the elder folk whose limbs could not stay steady and spines could not hold their heads upright. It looked wrong. But Farbauti's thoughts did not remain on Laufey. She curled into herself, lying down on the floor without caring for the cold or the discomfort of the position or the fact that her shoulder and cheek immediately became sticky with smears of Nál's blood. She only wanted to hold her son, feel his heartbeat, convince herself that, out of all the people who had died today, her son _lived_.

"My boy… my boy…." Her fingers clenched against her own cloak, feeling the tiny child concealed within, feeling his warmth. They were the people of the ice, but warmth still meant life. "You should be… _shall_ be…"

Her eyes strayed to Nál. She remembered something, a story that had faded into the depths of memory, from the days when she and Nál were childhood friends and Laufey had been a youth trying to impress her. Nál had told her something, just a silly little thing, trying to spark up conversation and stave off the boredom of being snowed in during Deep Winter.

_"I shall have a son, Farbauti, a brilliant son, and I know exactly what I shall name him."_

"… Loki."

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**So… I need to write a new summary for this story. I really, really need to, but heck, this story is gonna cover so much ground and so many different story arcs, how in the world do I summarize it? Aaaah! **

**Mythology Fun Fact: _Nál_ is actually just Laufey's "spare" name. Most Norse characters do have more than one name that they're referenced by, and this is Laufey's.**


	2. The Councel of Gunnlod

**I'm very happy with the way this is turning out, and if the response I got was anything to go by, then so were a few of my readers. Very nice.**

**ANNOUNCEMENT! The brilliant aylithe has agreed to edit my chapters before I post them, so that means that I won't have to be reposting edits of the same chapter five times anymore. Thank goodness. Go check out aylithe's stories! They're great reads and have inspired me _so_ much, I can't even begin to tell you.**

**Notes: … Um… I guess, maybe, warning for dead people? I probably should have put some kind of warning in the last chapter, because there was plenty of blood and death. This chapter isn't nearly as morbid. More… emotional. Plus, Laufey is crazy, and crazy people do crazy stuff. Somebody might count that as disturbing. And mentions of domestic abuse.**

**Also, here's just a quick rant that might teach you something about Norse mythology. In the mythology, Jotunheim was _not_ a giant hunk of ice like in the Thor movie. It was one of the richest landscapes in the whole mythology, featuring mountain ranges, forests, and tundra. _This_ is the Jotunheim that I'm writing about. The only Realm in mythology that was actually ice in majority was Nilfheim.**

**Thank you to everyone who followed and faved. Replies to reviews are at the bottom of the page.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

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**Chapter Two: The Counsel of Gunnlod**

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_A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones._

– Proverbs 17:22

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There was no ceremony for Nál's death. The bodies had to be disposed of in mass, and there was no special treatment for a corpse, not even that of the king's brother— it was simply the way of their people. No one, no matter their blood, was more special than another was. Farbauti honoured Nál in her own way, despite that he had not received the proper ritual. It was… surreal, for lack of a better word. How could he be dead if his body was not sent off with a mourning song and a crown of silver leaves upon his head? How could he be gone if his kin had not said goodbye?

So they pushed the bodies into the River Ifing, and it carried them down, deep into the ground. They would decay in the depths, just as their ancestors had.

Farbauti watched. All she wanted was to turn and run, but she stood firm. She was the queen, she had to be there beside the people. When they had all gone home, then, and only then, would she leave. She did not want to stay, but she had to. For them. It was an unwritten rule that she would follow. If Laufey were… of sound mind, he would have been there with her, and that might have eased the pain, but she did not even have him. He was back in Utgard, most likely screaming nonsense, completely unaware that his brother was dead, and that he had a son.

The passing of the bodies lasted for far too long. Corpses were rolled in, not too many at a time or they would block up the river and slow progress even more, so it was an enduring process that persisted for nearly the whole day. Farbauti was only grateful that the river had not iced over. Making ice was easy for jötnar. Breaking it was _not_ as easy, unless you were a mage with the ability to reverse the magic. Farbauti herself did hold some skill with magic, but she knew children with more practice than herself, so she did not think of it as anything to brag about. It had gotten her out of trouble a few times when she was younger, but since she married Laufey, she had not had the time nor the need to pursue magecraft.

As the procession stretched through the day, Farbauti caught glimpses of faces she knew. They would bob up above the water's surface before the rapids pushed them back under. She saw a shock of bright red hair, so bright that it was nearly orange, and she had to swallow a scream. It was Iárnvidia; it had to be. Farbauti had always been jealous of the giantess's hair. Iárnvidia had made it a jest, saying that her husband had only loved her for her coloring, but Farbauti had never seen a more devout pair.

She wondered if Iárnvidia's husband had died as well. He would not manage well without her, and it might be a mercy if he had passed on. Farbauti could hardly bring herself to hope he had met an end, however, when she remembered their child. A little girl, Angrboda, with hair as bright as her dam's.

There were too many familiar faces. She had to stop watching. She turned her eyes to the opposite bank of the river, beyond which was the first forest that made up the _Eddas_. There were monsters lurking there, creatures that had featured in the stories that frightened her as a child. She could see some of those creatures —wolves, she guessed— waiting at the edge of trees, no doubt attracted by the smell of blood and death. She could see flashes of fur, and she imagined that one might bolt out to snatch a body from the water. Impossible, though. If a wolf or any other creature tried to dip into the water, the current would pull them down and drown them. The River Ifing was treacherous.

Only when everyone else began to leave and there was barely a glint of sunlight left did Farbauti return home. The guards that flanked her were as tired as she was, and she sent them off of a quick word of thanks and nothing more. She wanted to hide. The day was turning to dusk, and she was exhausted. She would go back to her quarters, back to Loki, and she would wash her hands of any queenly duties for the rest of the night.

Some part of her, the part that still, somehow, believed that this was all a dream and that she would wake up to find that the war had never happened, expected to meet Laufey on the way back, or even at the door. But he would not be in the halls, nor at the door, and he most certainly would not wait for her in their rooms.

She had not shared a room with Laufey since his madness turned to violence. He had hit her, twice, and she had feared for the child in her womb. As far as anyone could tell, he had not noticed her absence, and Farbauti was not sure if that was a blessing or a curse. She wanted her husband to remember her, but she wanted to keep Loki safe.

_It seems that I cannot have both._

The giantess who had stayed behind to watch over Loki was a mother of four, and the moment she saw the queen, she knew to hand Loki over without question or comment. She knew the look of a frantic dam. Farbauti took Loki, and the giantess left without a word. Farbauti's nerves were frayed, and her patience was long gone. She wanted no one other than her son.

It had become obvious, especially since the final battle, that there was something terribly wrong with Loki. It was not so unusual for jötunn children to be born underweight, but those infants quickly made up for what they did not have. Loki did not. He remained slight and fragile, and there was a rattle in his chest when he breathed that sounded like water in his lungs. He was free of that illness, but that was no comfort to Farbauti. She had seen babes survive watered chests, but this was something that she did not understand, and she had no idea if he would recover.

The Deep Winter was coming, and without the Casket, the power reserves would be spent before the first real cold set in. As he was, Loki would not survive.

"Loki, my dear, you must be strong," Farbauti said, ordering him with the firm tone she usually reserved for addressing the court. Her usually soft Northern accent thickened in her distress. "You must be strong… _please_."

**ooOOOoo**

It was Gunnlod, an old Halfkind healer, who dared to seek out the mourning queen. She would have preferred not to disturb Farbauti –to disturb a new dam was not wise– but she had heard from the giantess who watched over Loki that Farbauti seemed unwell, and that was enough to stir concern

Gunnlod had been present for Nál's birth and when they sunk him into the River Ifing, like a mother would for her son. She had scolded Laufey and Nál for their trouble making as children, healed their hurts, and spoke comfort to them when the weight of the world pressed against young minds. She had even given Laufey advice as to how to court Farbauti, much to his chagrin. She was the closest thing that those two cretins had to a mother (as far as they could remember), and she had filled the role well. Many had told her that it was not her place to raise the princes, even if their dam was dead, but King Ymir had not objected. Even if he had, she would not have abandoned those boys. _Her_ boys.

But now one was dead, and the other insane. She could do nothing for Laufey, so she tended to Farbauti. And Loki. How she longed for Laufey to see Loki. But it was impossible while Laufey was mad, and dangerous. There was no point in showing the babe to Laufey if he would not even comprehend that Loki was his son. Hel, he could not even comprehend the passing of time.

Gunnlod moved cautiously into Farbauti's quarters. She had seen many new dams become almost feral in defense of their children, and the current circumstances made Farbauti a prime candidate for such behavior. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and the fear for her child, who had come so close to death and was still ill, was now her first concern. Gunnlod would think twice before sneaking up on the woman.

Furs were spread across the floor, and many heaped into a pile close to the fireplace where Farbauti lay. Cradled in an arm with his head lying on the crook of her shoulder was Loki. The boy's breaths were shallow and quick, catching in his throat. Gunnlod sighed and shook her head. She was far too familiar with that sound.

One of Gunnlod's wrinkled hands reached down and clasped Farbauti's arm. Her fingers were curled and stiff with the effects of age, but still gentle. Years ago, she had done something similar when Farbauti had been preparing for her wedding. Farbauti had been so nervous, and at some point, she had to remind the poor girl to breathe. But Gunnlod had been as firm as a rock, steady and unwavering by her side. _"It is not as if you go to marry a man you do not know,"_ she had said._ "He loves you. And he will be good to you. If he is not, I shall beat him with my cane."_ Farbauti had laughed at that.

"Gunnlod."

The healer kneeled further down so that she could lean on Farbauti's shoulders. She was old, and her knees could not hold her without some other support. "Yes?"

"Laufey is not being good. You must beat him with your cane now."

Gunnlod chuffed in amusement. "You remember that?"

With a crooked smile, Farbauti tilted her head back to look Gunnlod in the eye. "It was not that long ago. And I laughed until I cried."

"But you have grown so much since then, and if I remember correctly, you were crying before I said a word." Gunnlod moved to sit at Farbauti's side. She brushed the back of her hand across Loki's temple and smiled. "He is beautiful."

Pursing her lips, Farbauti shook her head. "He breathes as though his chest is watered."

Gunnlod leaned closer, examining Loki. She brushed her palm against Loki's bare chest, trying to feel out the rattling that she could hear every time he took in air. His heartbeat fluttered against her fingers, erratic and weak, and his breaths were uneven. She pulled her hand back and saw the way his skin twitched, as though just underneath, there was a moth fluttering to escape. His heart labored to keep him alive.

Farbauti noticed the healer's distress. "Is there nothing we can do for him?"

With a grimace that deepened her wrinkles, Gunnlod said, "The medicine is running out already, and there are those worse off than Loki. We cannot spare it."

Farbauti very rarely took advantage of her rank as queen. With power came responsibility, after all. She had learned that she was a servant of her people, the benefits of royal life aside. The people came first, and she would never steal food from their mouths or their children from their sides (as was the old way of collecting servants), and she would most certainly not take away the medicines that they so dearly needed. It was the duty of the healers to prioritize and make the difficult choices. Most healers were like Gunnlod: ranking the severity of the injury or sickness above the patient's status, even if that patient was as important as Loki. Farbauti could overrule Gunnlod's decision if she were desperate enough. She was the queen, after all. It was a temptation to rule against Gunnlod's judgment, and for Loki… What would a mother not do for her child?

_No. Stop it. He is Laufey's son— he will be strong. Gunnlod is wise. She knows better than me._

"Keep him warm," Gunnlod ordered, stooping further to adjust the furs around Farbauti's body. She noticed the dark shadows under the young queen's eyes and frowned disapprovingly. "Your son's birth has made you weary. You should have rested."

"It has been three weeks." _And I could not rest today. I had to say goodbye to Nál._

"There was a battle, and you birthed him early. You must take time to recover, my queen."

Loki coughed, wheezing and gasping to catch the breath he had lost. Farbauti pulled him closer against herself. Fear seemed to constantly be pressing against her. Fear for Loki's health, fear for her husband, fear for the realm. Farbauti was not used to being afraid. Not like this. Laufey had always protected her, and when he was forced to leave her side, he left Nál in his place. Now, neither were there for her. She had not been so alone since… Hel, she could not recall.

Farbauti ran her fingers over the soft tuft of silky black hair on Loki's head, comforting herself. "Is there _nothing_ you can do for him, Gunnlod?"

"The power is out, and most of my equipment is useless. But… this boy is the closest I will ever have to a grandchild, Farbauti. I will _not_ let him die."

Farbauti saw a familiar gleam of determination in Gunnlod's eyes. Gunnlod was, by nature, stubborn. In a good way. It made her the best of healers— the one who would not let go of a failing patient. Farbauti was sure she would not let go of Loki, either. Gunnlod had hardly seen the boy, but it was obvious that she already loved him.

"How is Laufey?" Gunnlod asked.

"Have you not seen him?"

"Nay. This is the first time since the battle that I have had a chance to leave the wounded, and I wanted to see Loki." Gunnlod plucked up the poker on the mantle and used it to turn the embers in the fireplace, reigniting the failing flames. "So, how is he?"

"Worse than before. He did not recognize me. I showed him Nál's body, and he…" There was a twitch at Farbauti's lips and a sting in her eyes, but she would not cry. She was tired of crying. "He did not know his own brother, Gunnlod. He did not know _Nál_."

It was ridiculous. Gunnlod heard the words, understood them, but they sounded wrong. Laufey and Nál were always together. Always. Even in the early years, before Nál was born, Laufey had seemed incomplete. Only with Nál nearby was he himself. Of course, that would never happen again. Nál was gone. That was such a strange thought. Gunnlod was not sure when she would accept that Nál was dead, but it would be a while yet. She still expected him to be just around the corner, or to come to the healers' hall and comfort the ill children, as he so liked to do.

But that was beside the point. Nál was dead, and there was nothing she could do about that; now she needed to focus on Laufey and Loki.

"Is there _anyone_ he recognizes?

"Sometimes he recognizes members of the council or one of the servants, enough to call them by name, but he…" Farbauti paused, searching for the right words. When she found them, they fell flat. "He responds violently."

This, Gunnlod understood. Thus far, Laufey's symptoms had not been consistent to any illness of the mind that she knew of. Or, at least, none that Laufey could have. She had seen older folk falter in their memories and forget their own kin, but Laufey was not nearly old enough for that, nor did he display any other signs of that particular sickness. Violent outbursts, however, she had seen in many cases. It certainly didn't narrow down the choices by much, but it was a clue, and that was more than she had before.

"… Has he seen Loki, then?"

"No. I doubt he even knows that I was pregnant, and I could not risk bringing Loki to him afterwards. He hit the chambermaid yesterday, and I was afraid that he might…"

"Ah." _Of course. _Gunnlod tugged on Farbauti's hand, attempting to urge the younger woman to her feet. "Come. We shall see if we can bring the king back to himself for long enough to meet his son."

Farbauti balked. "_What_? But, he—"

The look Gunnlod gave her allowed for no argument. "We must at least try, my dear."

Slowly, Farbauti adjusted her hold on Loki and began to sit up. A sneer was curling across her lips, changing her beautiful face into something twisted and not at all like her. _Feral,_ Gunnlod thought, recognizing the signs of a new dam defending her offspring. Gunnlod quickly —or as quickly as she could with her bad knees— stepped back. She had seen new dams attack at the slightest provocation and draw blood from anyone who dared come to close to a babe without permission. Farbauti was not nearly so far gone as that, but Gunnlod would not be taking any chances. The young queen's name meant 'cruel striker' for a reason. If Farbauti lashed out, it would be quick and clean, and Gunnlod would most likely end up with a snapped neck or crushed esophagus.

"Gunnlod," Farbauti began, her voice low, "I love my husband, but I will not put my son in harm's way for… for _this_."

Gunnlod swallowed thickly, taking another step back. "Do you not wish for your husband to return to you?"

Farbauti glared and bared her teeth, displaying the sharper canines that only Halfkind had. "How _dare_ you?"

"Farbauti, listen to yourself—"

"You know _nothing_!"

"Loki!"

The name was more effective than a physical blow could have been. Farbauti blinked at Gunnlod, then looked down at Loki, who was perfectly still in her arms and half asleep.

"_Oh_," she whispered, sinking down to the floor. In fear that the young queen might faint, Gunnlod rushed to support her, only to have Farbauti fling her one free arm around her neck and begin to cry.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, pressing her face against the crook of Gunnlod's neck, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…."

"Hush dear, I know," Gunnlod soothed, brushing her hand through Farbauti's tangled, unkempt hair, mindful that Loki was resting between them. She ignored Farbauti's lapse in speech. The girl had worked so hard to tame her accent, and Gunnlod knew it was embarrassing for her when her tongue slipped. "This is the effect of birthing. You cannot help it. I know."

Farbauti took shuddering breaths, trying to quell her own tears. "We… we should go to Laufey."

"Are you sure?"

"No," Farbauti admitted, shrugging. She shifted to look down at Loki, who had discovered the tassels of Gunnlod's scarf and was taking great pleasure in chewing on them. Farbauti smiled. "But I want my husband back."

* * *

**I'm so sorry that this update is so late, but college is a nasty, ill-tempered creature with no mercy. Here are the review replies!**

**Lady****: Thank you, thank you. It's good to know that you like the change. And we'll definitely be seeing plenty of Loki's magic, and his parents.**

**Armand****: Armand! You're here for the revised version! I knew you would stick with me. I'm glad that you like the characters and the writing style.**

**PeaceHeather****: The original version of this fic will be incorporated into the revision. You'll see a lot of the same scenes and dialogue, but they'll be much, _much_ better.**

**Guest1****: Thank you.**

**fantasiedreamar****: Ask, and you shall receive. A whole new chapter posted for your reading pleasure.**

**Guest2****: I'm glad.**

**Nancy2013****: It _was_ Loki, Odin just didn't kidnap any little jötunn childrens. This is an AU on the idea that Odin simply made a different decision at that moment.**


	3. Beautiful Boy

**[EDITED by aylithe and posted March 27, 2015]**

**MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES FOR UPDATING SO LATE! But I haven't gotten any angry complaints, which I was grateful for. I have such polite reviewers! It makes me happy. So, I'm gonna be polite in return and inform you that, despite my best efforts, one update per week just ain't happening. Obviously. I have college and personal projects and lots of blah-blah-blah to get to, so we're looking at one or two updates per month. Sorry. I feel like such a terrible person, but I would like to give you quality over quantity, so this is all I have.**

**Just because I love you, I wrote the majority of this chapter over finals week. FINALS WEEK. College. Finals Week. And I wrote it for you anyway. So this week was a little dark, a little gloomy, and, as always, hey, full of dead people. What are ya gonna do? And poor aylithe edited this monster of a chapter while balancing a load of homework, so big thanks to her, too. I don't think there will ever be a chapter in which I'm not singing her praises.**

**Also, I know that Farbauti has been the center of attention thus far, but Loki really _is_ the main character. It's just a difficult –impossible– to narrate everything from an infant's perspective, and Farbauti's story is an easy way for me to show off the setting and characters and explain what's going on, so we'll have to wait for a little while for the focus to shift to Loki.**

**My theme song for Loki and Laufey is "Beautiful Boy" by John Lennon. It's a beautiful song that I love, and it actually seemed accurate for their relationship. If you haven't heard this song, I really do suggest you listen to it, not just for the sake of this story, but for… the expansion of your mind in reference to music. Everybody has to have at least a little bit of John Lennon in their soul.**

**I had a few formatting issues with this chapter, so if a few things look a little strange... well, I'm gonna beg you to graciously ignore it. Please. I'll fix it when I get the chance.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter Three: Beautiful Boy**

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Close your eyes  
Have no fear  
The monster's gone  
He's on the run, and your daddy's here  
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful  
Beautiful boy _

– Excerpt from "Beautiful Boy," a song by John Lennon

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Farbauti held Loki to her chest when she beheld Laufey. Whilst it was her husband before her, her memories of him were vastly different.

Her memory was not perfect. The years of her childhood leading up to adolescence were a haze of happy sameness, bright bursts of running through the tall, yellow grass and playing in the freshly fallen snow. The rush came after that —a speeding blur of frustration and dissatisfaction that came with her less than pleasant transition from child to woman. That was when her name was Sigrunn and she had yet to do anything of any real importance in her life.

Then there were memories that she could recall just as easily as the names of her parents. She remembered her sire teaching her how to set a broken bone. She remembered the day her youngest sibling was born. She remembered pushing overeager males away in disgust. She remembered when her dam asked her if something was wrong with her when she refused to accept courtship. She also remembered when a monster serpent from the _Eddas_ struck, but she struck even faster, and the villagers started calling her Farbauti instead of her Sigrunn. She was no longer a girl, but Farbauti, Cruel Striker, and she had killed a monster serpent in a single blow.

And then she remembered Laufey and Nál.

She met Nál first, on the tundra where she saved him from holding his bow like an idiot.

"Nae, nae, ye pull it back with three fingers, ne'er two," Farbauti had chastised him, waving the arrow before him while he only sat back on the ice and laughed. "What dim-wit taught ye that? Ye'll ne'er aim straight holdin' it with two fingers. Nae gointa hold the bow backwards as well now, are ye?"

Oddly enough, insults sometimes make fast friends. But then, there was Laufey, and _Hel_, Farbauti had many times questioned if it was all really worth putting up with Laufey's idiocy. A day of watching Laufey nearly kill himself multiple times led Farbauti to praying to the Creator that Nál would become king instead of Laufey ("Doomed," she told Nál, "we all're _doomed_ if ye brother's t'be king."). Maybe she had been a _bit _melodramatic about Laufey's stupidity. But only a little bit. The boy had nearly lost his hand to a river serpent. What imbecile was daft enough to put their hand anywhere near a set of teeth that sharp?

"Stupid, stupid boy," she had called him, even though he was twelve cycles older and two feet taller than her. She thought he was a dunce. He thought she was annoying. Nál thought they were hilarious. _Dimwits_.

How they went from hating each other to loving each other, Farbauti would never understand for sure. Someone had meddled. She had always carried the suspicion that it was most likely Nál who had gotten her and Laufey into all those awkward positions _alone_, but it was too late to ask him if that was true. However it happened, she and Laufey had come to love each other. She had been a harsh-tongued, callous-handed, uneducated waif, but Laufey insisted that her kind heart and courage made up for it. Laufey was reckless and wild, but Farbauti knew that he was brave and intelligent and compassionate and a great leader.

At this moment, though, Laufey was none of those things. At this moment, he was a lunatic. It was sinister, how normal he seemed sometimes— fully functioning, speaking to the council about taking over Midgard as if he were discussing the weather, and then in the very next moment he would be… this. Everything breakable in Laufey's quarters had been removed, but there were still shards of glass on the terrace that no one had dared to sweep away. Blood was smeared into the furs that covered the floor, and Farbauti realized with no small amount of appall that it was from Laufey himself — his feet were bleeding. And standing before Laufey, in all her five-foot-tall tenacity, was Gunnlod.

Sometimes Farbauti forgot exactly how reckless Gunnlod could be. The old woman had ignored the guards' warnings and walked right up to Laufey without hesitation. Laufey stared back down at the healer as if she were black tarnish on his battle armor. It might have made a humorous scene, if Farbauti had not been so aware of the danger that Gunnlod was in. Laufey had taken to striking those who upset him (and most people _did_ upset him somehow or another), and Gunnlod's body was half his size and brittle with age. A well-placed blow would break her.

"Perhaps we she try on a day when he is not so irritable," Farbauti said, trying to reason against Gunnlod's stubborn determination. How such a wise woman could do such stupid things, she would never understand.

Gunnlod kept up her intense staring contest with Laufey, who was pacing the room like a caged animal. The face she made pronounced her wrinkles. "That is hardly like you, Farbauti. Where is the Cruel Striker?"

Farbauti shook her head, grimacing. "That is my _husband_, Gunnlod, and the babe in my arms is my _son_. There is no serpent-slayer here."

Gunnlod did not seem satisfied with that answer. Farbauti did not expect her to be. As Laufey moved, his body shaking with each step, he kept his eyes locked with Gunnlod's. Farbauti hoped he recognized her.

Trying to bring Laufey out his insanity had proved to be rather more difficult than Gunnlod had made it sound. Talking had done no good, seeing as Laufey didn't even seem to hear Gunnlod at all. That was how they had fallen to this point. Staring. Gunnlod stared up with a frown, Laufey stared down with a sneer, and Farbauti stared on with a sick feeling in her gut. She instinctively curled her fingers tighter around Loki's sleeping form when Laufey growled. She considered leaving. If Gunnlod thought she could do this, it would be Gunnlod's business, but Farbauti did not like having Loki so close to Laufey while he was so… irritable.

_I can stay a little while longer_, decided Farbauti, _just in case Gunnlod does get through to him._ She did take a step back, though. Just a bit closer to the door. She hardly felt like herself, ashamed for shying away.

_You could dance with wyrms and giant wolves when you were alone. Even when you married Laufey, you were not so concerned, but you have Loki. Loki needs you. That changes things. When he does not need you anymore, then you can dance with danger again, but dare not to leave Gunnlod in such danger. Becoming a dam does not make you a coward._

Farbauti blinked. _And know I am lecturing myself. I will be as mad as my husband soon._

In an effort to break the silence and muffle her own inner ramblings, Farbauti asked Gunnlod, "How did we not notice this happening?"

"You noticed," Gunnlod murmured, her eyes never ceasing to track Laufey as he stalked around the room. "Nál noticed. I thought he was only anxious for you. For the babe."

This caught Farbauti's attention. "You knew I was with child?"

Gunnlod shrugged and Laufey hissed at the movement. "I suspected that you might be. You held yourself differently. Seemed just a bit more cautious on the stairs. It made sense."

Farbauti did not have the heart to be _too_ irritated with Gunnlod for not mentioning it, but there was definitely a feeling of exasperation. It had taken two months to puzzle out the symptoms of pregnancy on her own, and she had been terrified.

The silence that filled the spacious quarters was not really silence. It was full of Laufey's feral grumblings and Loki's raspy breaths, and that was worse than true silence could be.

"This is worse than usual," Farbauti finally said, once again trying to push away the crushing not-silence. Loki wriggled in her arms but still made no noise other his own futile efforts to breathe properly. Farbauti's heart clenched at the pathetic sounds. "He is usually… functional. Not this."

"Not so like a madman?"

There was nothing Farbauti could think to say to that. Her heart hurt and the awful sounds of Loki's failing lungs and Laufey's animalistic growling.

_This is hardly as bad as it seems. You just gave birth. Things are strange when you have a newborn. You remember what Dam was like when she bore Caldr._

Farbauti was startled out of her musing when Laufey suddenly bared his teeth at Gunnlod and snarled.

If she had not been holding Loki, she would have leapt between the healer and her husband in an instant, but Loki's weak body in her arms bypassed any thought of rescuing the old woman and kept her feet firmly planted where they were. A shiver of fear passed through her as she hunched a little around Loki. _Call the guards_, she thought. _Call the guards, call the guards, call the guards!_

But, to Farbauti's horror, Gunnlod had other ideas.

"Now, you listen here, pup!"Gunnlod snapped at Laufey. "I have just about had enough of this behavior!"

"Gunnlod—"

"Hush!"

It was not Gunnlod's warning as much as the sound of Laufey's teeth grinding that quieted Farbauti.

All of the worst possible scenarios ran through her mind. Laufey could kill Gunnlod with a flick of his wrist, yes, but he might decide to grab her by the nape of the neck and shake her to death or maybe use his strong teeth to rip her throat out (that was more like something a Halfkind would do, but Farbauti would not put anything past Laufey at this point). He could throw her off the terrace. He could easily tear her to pieces. Or he could completely ignore Gunnlod and settle for an even smaller target, like Loki. In which case…

In which case Farbauti would fight tooth and claw and most likely kill her husband in defense of her child. She may have been Halfkind, but she was still the serpent-slayer, and she could kill him if she had to. Nausea swept over Farbauti, but she kept her eyes on Gunnlod.

And then Gunnlod decided to completely throw caution to the wind.

"I have had enough of this, boy. Enough! I may not be your mother, but I swear to the Creator that I will–" She then began on a tirade worthy of an angry general in the war council. The old woman practically shook with all the noise she was making as she ranted on and on at Laufey. Farbauti could only watch on and pray to the Creator that Laufey did not smash Gunnlod into the floor. He did not make a move, though, and Gunnlod's rant continued. Farbauti only caught bits of it, things like, "How could you do this to your poor wife, you selfish—!" and, "I did not raise you from your pathetic infancy just so you could become a drooling maniac," and something along the lines of, "And you take heed when I say that I will sever your—" But Gunnlod did not stop, Laufey did not move, and Farbauti was only wondering what in Yggdrasil the guards could be doing that kept them from realizing that they were needed. _Now_.

But then—

"Good word, woman, what are you on about?"

Farbauti's already rigid muscles went taut like a bowstring. She had not heard what she had just heard. No. It was wishful thinking and an overactive imagination. It was the pain in her heart telling her head to give her some relief. It was anything except for what it sounded like… But she had to make sure.

She turned her gaze from Gunnlod's thin, spindly body to Laufey. He looked right back at her.

"Oh," Laufey muttered, swaying on his feet. His knees trembled, and Gunnlod stepped away. "_Oh_."

Farbauti rushed forward as Laufey sank onto the fur-covered floor. He folded himself down onto a tan pelt and began to rub his hands across his face, probably trying to massage away the soreness of the new scars on his cheeks from the last battle with the Aesir. He groaned in discomfort and Farbauti felt a new pang of sympathy. Insanity obviously did not allow one to express their need for medical attention. She crouched down beside him, holding Loki in one arm while she steadied herself with the other.

**ooOOOoo**

"What in Yggdrasil?" Laufey groaned, and then he froze. He had peeked through his fingers and caught a glimpse of Farbauti. "Farbauti?" he asked. He dropped his hands away from his face and studied her. She looked different. Not right. Tired and older and in pain, like he had never seen her before. "Farbauti, what is all this?"

Farbauti made shrill sound in her throat. "Apologies, m'dear, but that'll nae be so easy to explain to ye."

The accent. She was letting him hear the accent. Serious, then, very serious.

"Farbauti…" Laufey's ears twitched at a faint rasping sound. He blinked down at the bundle in his wife's arms and flinched in surprise. An infant, impossibly small, unbearably sickly-looking, with Farbauti's heritage marks tracing its cheeks, and… Laufey's throat went dry. "Who is this?"

"His name is Loki."

The allusion was not lost on him, and a small smile curled his lips (which hurt, because his whole face ached for reasons he could not even begin to imagine). "For Nál? He was gracious enough to relinquish the name?"

Farbauti swallowed thickly once, twice, three times before speaking again. "Aye, he did that."

Laufey leaned in closer to his wife, if only to gain a better view of the babe — his son. "For how long was I—? What _did_ happen? I can hardly recall the last time I saw you." He tilted his head.

"It's been a good long while," Farbauti said, pulling herself even closer to her husband. He wrapped his arms around her, taking extra care not to disturb Loki. He could hardly decide whether to look at his wife or his son. His son should have taken some precedence, but he was becoming very aware of a gnawing feeling in his gut, the emptiness of missing someone. Of missing her. Maybe Laufey was not aware of whatever it was that had happened, but he was very aware of her absence during that time. He could not remember her being gone, but there was a dark blank in his memory in which he could not remember her _at all_, and somehow _missed_ her. But then there was his son, out of nowhere. Farbauti had not even been with child, and then suddenly, there was his child. It had to be. The heritage marks were his own.

_Pleasant surprises ought not be questioned,_ he decided, nuzzling Farbauti's neck. _For the meantime, at least._ He turned his attention back to Loki. The boy was barely more than a wisp, and too small to be anything but Halfkind, but he seemed quite perfect to Laufey.

"I do believe that this is the most beautiful child I have ever seen."

"He _is_ perfect," Farbauti agreed with a smile. But then her face fell and her mouth pulled taut. The expression made her look old. "Laufey, I hate t'break the joy, but there'n be a matter—"

"Is he unwell?"

Laufey's hand nearly engulfed the babe's whole body. It might have been worth a chuckle, had he not felt so appalled by the faintness of his son's heartbeat. "He barely breathes," he growled, gently brushing his palm against Loki's chest.

"He was born so, my lord," Gunnlod finally said, keeping her head bowed.

"And why have you not treated him?" Laufey snapped. He usually was a patient man, as being king required of him, but he was tired, confused, in pain, and this was about his son. He was not about to muster up his patience from whatever deep hole it was hiding in just for Gunnlod's sake, no matter how much he wanted to.

"There has been a… an emergency, my lord," Gunnlod said, treading carefully with vague words and a respectful address. "The power is out, my equipment is useless, and the medicine is in low supply. There are others who need it more than Loki, I am afraid."

"Gunnlod… This is my son," Laufey rumbled. "He is _my_ son and the future _king_. You will give him the best that is available."

"But—"

Laufey bared his teeth and hissed. Farbauti flinched in his arms but did not pull away. "But _nothing_. I am the king, and you _will_—" His thoughts were slipping, fading, and he could not catch them. "… And… I never wanted the throne. I only ever wanted to be your equal."

**ooOOOoo**

"What?" Farbauti looked up at her husband; Gunnlod remained silent. "Laufey?"

A small smile crossed Laufey's face before immediately turning into a grimace. His eyes flashed with a sudden rage. "It's too late. Nothing can stop it."

Gunnlod rushed to Farbauti's side and began to pull the young queen away from Laufey's embrace." He loses himself, milady. Your time is up."

"No!" Farbauti stumbled, keeping a firm grip on Loki as she tried to turn back to Laufey. "No, just a while longer, _please_."

But Laufey was already gone. "Where is the Tesseract? I've sent it off, I know not where."

"Laufey, donnae leave me like this. Ye cannae leave me alone here." Farbauti's thickly accented voice seemed to pull to Laufey for half a second, but that half-second was gone as quickly as it came.

"What, because I-I-I-I am the monster that parents tell their children about at night?

"I still don't think you're the god of thunder, but you ought to be….

"Don't tell me it was that woman!" Laufey had graduated from muttering to outright screaming. "Tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, TELL ME …!"

Farbauti retreated with a sob, and Gunnlod went with her. They stood at safe distance, watching Laufey rage and pace and howl and leave a bloody mosaic of smeared footprints across the pelts on the floor.

"Could never have a _frost giant_ sitting on the throne of Asgard.

"So why not kill him yourself?

"They took our backups. They took the backups of our backups. They were extremely thorough.

"He should be flogged for taking so long. We never should have reached Jotunheim."

"What is he talking about?" Farbauti whispered, holding Loki close.

"Mad ramblings, Farbauti," Gunnlod said, "nothing more."

"No… no, it is more than that. Listen. He speaks like someone else. Those are another man's words."

Gunnlod sighed. "No, Farbauti. He is mad — without sense. Leave it be."

But Gunnlod had forgotten exactly who Farbauti was, or who she _once_ was. For all that the young queen was Cruel Striker, she was still that village-girl Sigrunn, and Sigrunn had _never _let _anything_ be.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Well, folks, there's Laufey for you. What the heck is going on with him? And Farbauti didn't tell him that Nál was dead, or anything, really, which means that we'll have to deal with that later. Le gasp. Remember, this story is an experiment, and you guys are my variables (of all the things to remember from the uselessness of high school science classes, I remember scientific procedure). Your suggestions make the story, as long as they are within the rules and reasonable… realism. Y'know, as realistic as we can get, seeing as this is a fantasy inspired by a mish-mash of a comic-based movie franchise and old Norse mythology…. So review. Tell me what you want to see. Or PM me, if you feel like being in depth or even having a discussion.**

**Kudos to everybody who recognized all the movie lines.**

**Norse Mythology Fun Fact: According to legend, Gunnlod was a jötunn woman who helped Odin steal the mead of poetry from her father, Suttungr. There are versions of the tale in which Odin coerced her into doing this after seducing her, and others in which she willingly offered her help.**

**Armand****: Thank you, my man! Or, woman, maybe… Sorry, Armand is a man's name to me, so I've thought of you in the masculine sense, and your writing was sort of gender-neutral. Don't mind me, I'm a little slow. I'm glad you stuck with me through the long haul of college screwing my schedule over. And thank you for actually reading the A/N, because some people don't, and they'll complain because they're confused, and I'll be able to say is, "Guys, I told you all the way back in the Chapter 2 A/N. Pay attention if you're so easily confused. Why can't you all be like Armand?"**

**Nancy2013****: I totally understand. It was a really heavy chapter. Easy to get lost in there!**

**PeaceHeather****: Is that a request or an offer? Because replying privately is a little time consuming for me, but if you're uncomfortable with me replying "publicly" then I won't do it. Just say the word. Y'know, I actually _was_ thinking of postpartum in this chapter a little bit. I mean, I'm not a mother, so I don't have any personal experience with that, but I know people who have, and I just have to give a giant virtual bag of chocolate and a hug to every woman who goes through postpartum. People always forget how serious that can get. **

**Ireland Ranger****: Thank you, thank you. I'm glad you like it.**

**HaremBishie****: Ask and you shall receive.**


	4. Realms of Gold and Dust

**Somebody pointed out to me that my ANs take up a huge chunk of my chapters, so I'm gonna cut down my notes down to size wherever I can and, in the future, beef my chapters up. This chapter, however, is unfortunately SUPER SHORT, mostly because it's a buffer chapter. Prepare yourselves, folks, this chapter is being used to illustrate a ****_time lapse_****. And, we're going to Asgard. Don't tell me you weren't wondering what was happening there without Loki.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Realms of Gold and Dust**

* * *

_Little wishes on great big stars._

_Dear son, I make a wish for you._

_Keep on growing and keep on smiling._

_And I'll keep loving all that you do._

–Edited excerpt from "Little Wishes," a poem by Casarah Nance

* * *

Whatever the young Prince Thor lacked in the talkative behavior seen in other children his age, he made up for in his need to move. He walked before the others did, and by time they were walking, he was running. He was a happy, healthy, ruddy-cheeked child, and Odin could not be more grateful for the blessing. The king's mind too often settled on the memory of a sickly jötunn babe that he had left out in the cold. Regret tugged at him, not only for the child's sake, but for Thor's and Frigga's.

Frigga loved Thor dearly, but she wanted another child; she had yet to conceive again. The healers told her not to worry, that to bear another child so soon after Thor was hardly healthy in the first place, but Odin knew better than to think this would console Frigga. She was young, she wanted children, and Thor was growing quickly with an uncanny amount of independence from his mother. It was not enough. If Odin had brought that jötunn child back, a child who would have needed Frigga even more than she needed him, perhaps the empty space would have been filled. And, the healers' understanding about Frigga's health aside, it was expected of the royal family to have heirs in a... timely fashion, for lack of a better phrase. If nothing else, it was an irritation to Odin, just because Frigga was not taking it well.

For Thor too, something was lacking. He made friends with ease, charming adults with his cheer and ready smile while enticing other children with his energy and vigor for their games. But somehow, he still seemed… alone. Unsteady. No boy his age could ever truly be called steady, of course, but Thor seemed especially off-kilter, as though his constant movement was only an effort to keep from falling. If he were to stop, for just a moment too long, he might topple over. That was what Odin imagined, and he did not want to stretch that imagination so far as to see what Thor might become if he remained so without balance.

_I am already failing_, was a thought that occurred to Odin time and again. He had no idea what to do.

For himself, however, Odin decided that a visit to the Gatekeeper might settle at least one of his worries.

Odin did not visit the Bifrost as often as he would have liked to. It had stood at Asgard's edge for longer than he had been alive, but it never ceased to amaze him. To walk the Bifrost was something extraordinary that most could overlook after having experienced it for themselves; one of his earliest memories was of his father showing him the vastness of the universe beyond. He remembered standing with wide eyes and a slack jaw, turning his head every which-way in an effort to see as much as he could all at once.

Now, he took the time to look again. The Bridge shimmered under his feet, pulsing in response to his power. Everything in Asgard responded to the Allfather's power, but the Bifrost always seemed especially receptive.

The sky was clear and crisp with stars. He sometimes had to remind himself that some of those lights were other galaxies, far away out of his reach. Were they as full of life as the one he lived in, or was this place special? Was his own galaxy the only one that flourished so?

Questions for another time, Odin told himself, looking ahead. At the golden Gate entrance, Odin could see Heimdall, standing as stoically as he usually did,. Odin strode forward with a renewed sense of purpose. That actually seemed slightly ironic, seeing as if someone were to ask him what he was doing, he would not have an exact answer for them. He only knew that he wanted something. What he was doing was a little more difficult to explain, even to himself.

Going to speak with Heimdall is always difficult to explain.

"Heimdall," Odin said, as cordial as he always was with the Watchman. Although he might never admit to it, Heimdall was one of his favorite people. The golden-eyed Gatekeeper was only part Asgardian by blood, but his loyalty was unmatched, not just to Odin as king, but Odin as a person. He was honored by the respect that Heimdall so sincerely showed.

"My king," Heimdall said in greeting. "What brings you here?"

"I would like to say that I only came to speak with you for the sake of it, old friend," said Odin, his tone apologetic as he realized how rarely he really did speak to Heimdall without ulterior motive, "but there is something I wish to see."

"Or that you wish me to find."

"Yes." Odin glanced over, expecting to see the Gatekeeper out of the corner of his eye before remembering that no eye was present. It had been so long, and yet he still was not used to his half-blindness. He did not expect it until it hid something from view. "There was a babe, in Jotunheim. A prince."

A sound came from Heimdall's throat, a deep hmm, as if to say, oh, yes, that, why did you not say so before? "You spared him."

The memory of the icy cold and the blood and the rasping cry of a babe flickered unbidden in Odin's mind. The empty socket of his missing eye immediately stung with a phantom pain, and he had to stop himself from reaching up to wipe away the blood that his mind told him should be there. Clearing his throat, although it was more of an effort to clear his mind, Odin said, "He was weak, as you saw. Does he live now?"

There was a twitch at Heimdall's mouth— the temptation of a smile. "He thrives."

**oooOOOooo**

The prince had survived the harshness of the Deep Winter many years over and proven himself to be the most resilient of them all.

"Loki! Loki, boy, get back here!"

He was also incredibly troublesome.

Loki had only just learned to run. Other children his age had managed it before he had, but now that he could truly run, he had the horrible tendency to slip away from his caretakers whenever they were not looking. His size gave him the advantage of being able to move about unnoticed, as long as he was careful, and slip into tight spots where most could not reach him. The woman who had been looking after him as of late certainly did not stand a chance. This time, however, she had spotted him escaping to freedom.

He did not know why, and he did not care to know, but the thrill of it made him laugh. It was his laughter, unfortunately, that usually gave away his hiding place.

Farbauti snatched her son out from behind the heavy curtains of the council room and fixed him with a stern glare. "Loki, if you are responsible for my being late for the next meeting, you will be in a whole new world of trouble." Loki only laughed.

A giantess stumbled into the room, panting for breath. Fjörgyn stood two feet taller that Farbauti, looking completely disgruntled with her hair escaping from its braid and her headdress skewed to the side. Farbauti resisted the urge to laugh, knowing it would be unkind to tease the young woman. Fjörgyn had lasted longer than some of Loki's other caretakers had, and she tolerated it all with a much better attitude than any of her predecessors, which instantly endeared her to Farbauti.

"Milady, I'm sorry!" Fjörgyn could not have had a more horrified expression on her face if she tried.

"I turned my head for half a moment to fi—"

"I understand, Fjörgyn," Farbauti said, nodding. "Wait in the hall? I think he just missed me."

Fjörgyn wilted with relief, mumbled a _thank you_ and fled the room.

Farbauti sighed. "Loki." She held her son up to look him straight in the eyes. "Why do you run away from good Fjörgyn?"

"Want Dam," was the best answer that Loki could provide. Perhaps, inside his head, there was a perfectly reasonable excuse floating around, but he had not the skills to express the thought. So: "Want Dam."

Farbauti remembered being very resentful of the phrase 'because I told you to' as she was growing up, and had vowed to use it only sparingly with Loki. The problem arose, though, that while Loki's vocabulary was limited at his age, he had a burning curiosity. He questioned everything, even why the sky was grey, and what was Farbauti to tell him? He could not possibly understand, as it was with most things, and when posed with something that he could not understand, he fell back on his original question: 'Why?'

It had been endearing, in the beginning. He asked 'why?' and 'what?' in response to every new thing he came upon, utterly without fear. That had gotten him into quite a few tight spots. When an adult was not quick enough to catch him, he investigated on his own. His curiosity was a testament to his intelligence, but it worried Farbauti to no end. Nothing bad had happened yet, but if he were to wander upon Laufey's path…

This really could not be allowed to go on.

"Loki, my dearest, Dam is busy. You must stay with Fjörgyn until I am finished," she instructed Loki as if ordering a soldier. Loki's nose wrinkled, and Farbauti just had to smile; Laufey did the same thing when he was unhappy. "Later, Loki, later."

But Loki was a determined creature. "Want Dam."

Farbauti frowned. All she could really think was that this should never have happened. Laufey should have been there. He should have been sane, doing all of these kingly things while she took care of Loki like she wanted to and then everything would be right, if only her dunce of a husband had not—

_You dare blame him?_

_No, of course not. Not really._ In a twisted way, this was all Laufey's fault, but Farbauti was not about to give in to that idea. It was hardly his fault that he went mad, after all, and one could in turn say that it was her own fault for not ordering the healers to pin him down and find out what was wrong with him in the first place. Popular opinion was that it was the fault of the radicals; that they were the ones who had been responsible for the Conquering War on Midgard because they were the ones who took advantage of Laufey's madness and used it to push for violence. It was all true, so who could be fairly blamed for the whole mess?

No one, of course. They simply had to withstand whatever consequences their own mistakes had put upon them.

"Loki, I am sorry, but I am busy right now, so you must stay with Fjörgyn. Just for a while, and then I will be back."

Loki wrinkled his nose in response again. The expression was so alike to Laufey's that it hurt. As long as Loki never mastered that charming, crooked half-smile that Laufey used whenever he wanted to cheer her up, maybe Farbauti could look at her son without breaking her own heart.

"Promise that you will be good for me, dearest?"

His brow furrowed, as if he were mulling it over. Maybe he was. Farbauti was never sure what the boy was thinking, but then again, she never really understood children. Her own memories of being a child never seemed to do them justice. But then his creased brow smoothed out and he smiled. A crooked smile. Farbauti's heart clenched.

"Promise," Loki answered, that smile still fixed on his face, and he pressed a tiny hand against his dam's shoulder.

Well, there went the rest of her heart.

* * *

**As far as review replies go, if you would rather I PM you or not reply at all, just say so. It doesn't bother me. Again, cutting down on my ANs. And, once again, my apologies for the formatting issues. You might not notice them, but as a child of two OCD parents, _I_ notice.**

**Fun Fact: If you were missing an eye, like Odin, only twenty percent of your vision would be lost, not fifty percent.**

**Allinray****: I'm afraid I don't know enough Spanish to give that a proper response, but I can at least say ****_gracias_****.**

**Nancy2013****: He is, he is. And it just gets nuttier.**

**Ribke D'Crazy****: I can't answer that question if you're not specific, but the truth is, even ****_I'm_**** not sure what's going on. Many of the plot points in this story are made according the suggestions of the reviewers, such as yourself. This story is a challenge to myself to write and work with what the reviewers give me, so sometimes I honestly don't know what's going to happen until I write it.**

**Armand****: I knew I could count on a review from you! And don't worry, no review is too long. I love reading everyone's reviews. It gives me a chance to see how my readers perceive the story, plus I get to make some friends. Passed all my finals, by the way. And as to Laufey's madness, it's, um… oh, it's interesting. It's actually my first ****_real_**** tie-in back to the original version of this story, which is exciting for me because it means that I did something right. Actually, the longest review was from ****aylithe****, but that review was more like a massive critique. I enjoyed it and it led to ****aylithe****'s editing for me, which saved this story, so hey, good things come from long reviews! There was another long-ish one from the original version of this story about the uniting of Yggdrasil, so I think yours is probably the third longest. I look forward to hearing from you again.**

**fan girl 666****: ****J****That username is still as terrifying as ever. But the question is, ****_why_**** is Laufey mumbling Loki lines?**

**PeaceHeather****: Good points all around. I'm working up to having a steady 3,500 word average, not including AN's and replies, so that's just… life. This chapter was actually quite a bit longer in its original draft, but it was very cluttered, so now it's shorter. Sorry. As far as the plot goes, I do have some goals I'm reaching towards. I want to get to the Avengers plotline, which will be turned completely on its side because Loki won't be the bad guy, Thor's still gonna be banished even without Loki's meddling, Laufey's madness has to be explained, plus there's the whole uniting of Yggdrasil arc. So it's not like I'm completely without direction, but still, this story is an experiment.**


	5. Trapped Within, Trapped Without

**As usual, I have the politest and most brilliant reviewers in the whole wide world and I love you all! Replies are at the bottom of the page, unless you asked me to PM you, which I ****_should_**** have already done by now. Thanks for your support, everybody, and please remember to sing the praises of the great ****aylithe**** for editing this mess into something worth reading.**

**AND I APOLOGISE FOR HOW LATE THIS IS. I HAVE FAILED YOU! I had to read five books and write three essays plus research/write/present a twenty-minute speech about food, which is ridiculous because I can't even cook, and I had to do all of this before I could even ****_think_**** about writing this chapter. SO I'M SORRY.**

**Chapter Warnings: Intoxication, mild violence, and very mild language.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

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**Chapter Five: Trapped Within, Trapped Without**

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_If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you._

_– __Matthew 10:13_

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Farbauti knew that the palace would soon no longer be a safe place for Loki. It was easy to hide such a small child, especially one as quiet and obedient as Loki. But Loki was growing, and keeping him hidden in the remote corners of the palace was no longer an option. It wasn't healthy, nor was it right, and Loki hadn't been given the chance to interact with other children.

The decision to leave the palace and live in the city was not a difficult choice, nor could anybody really say that it was unexpected, but it was met with opposition.

Or, it was met with mostly Gunnlod's opposition, but that was almost the same thing.

"You cannot think that Loki will be safe out there."

Farbauti gave Gunnlod a half-hearted glare. "Not a day in his life has Loki been safe. This way, at least, he will be out of Laufey's reach."

Stubbornness seemed to be a common trait in Halfkind, but Gunnlod by far was the most. Maybe it was her age that had made her so, or her harsh and unforgiving experiences in life, but Gunnlod was the best at digging her heels in. Famously so. Once, she had dragged an injured —and very unwilling— guard down from the city wall so that she could treat his injuries. He had been three times her size and had fought her all the way, but she had gotten what she wanted. The incident would go down in history, as far as the guardsmen were concerned.

"Farbauti, no," Gunnlod stressed. She pulled on Farbauti's sleeve like a child would, but there was nothing childish about her tone. "You cannot. You cannot leave, I will not allow it."

"You will not _allow_ it?" Farbauti cocked an eyebrow, stepping closer to take advantage of her height over Gunnlod. "Is that so? You really want to trap Loki here."

"This is the safest place he can—"

It usually took more than Gunnlod's mulish attitude to break Farbauti's calm, but her patience was already worn thin; she was tired and all she wanted was to get back to Loki. So, even if there was any patience she could have scrounged up on Gunnlod's behalf, she didn't bother. She was the queen, for Shiloh's sake, she would not be bullied by Laufey's unofficial nanny; Gunnlod's high rank be bothered to Hel. "Donnae lie to yeself, Gunny— it's nae foolin' me."

Gunnlod flinched at the uncultured accent. Sometimes Farbauti forgot that Gunnlod was oddly prejudiced. It was mild, and mostly born out of being raised with the belief that being clean and cultured were the great marks of character, but it annoyed Farbauti. Yes, she was a peasant from an underground ice village that was so remote that it had never been given a name, but she was Queen of the Realm. Not only had she been successfully ruling despite Laufey's madness, but had done so whilst raising a child; did that afford her no respect?

And that was what made Farbauti pull herself together.

"Gunnlod, I know you worry, but the palace is not safe for Loki. I will not live alone, nor without protection, and I will stay in contact. Vafthrudnir is my steward, and someone has to make sure he keeps Laufey from bullying the council, yes?" Farbauti smiled tiredly. Gunnlod was nonplussed. "And this will not be forever. Loki will be old enough to defend himself one day, and we will return to live here. Is that not fair?"

Gunnlod jut her chin out. "Fair has nothing to do with it."

And that was as close to a blessing as Farbauti would receive from the woman.

"What does Loki think of this?"

"I… have yet to tell him."

Gunnlod smirked. "Of course."

oooOOOooo

Volstagg was barely old enough to be considered a man — and by most people's standards, he was still just a boy, and they unkindly insisted on reminding him of it — when his father first took him away to a realm other than Asgard. It wasn't even a part of Yggdrasil. It was a planetoid, dark and humid, and full of so many different kinds of people that Volstagg could not help but be overwhelmed. And, for the first time in his life, he couldn't help but be quiet.

And then there was food, all new and unusual and mostly delicious. That helped. A lot.

There was some comfort in that the tavern felt much like the ones back at Asgard. Warm, smelling like food and ale, full of people who seemed familiar with each other. Volstagg was no member of the regular crowd, but the feeling of neighbors coming together was unmistakable, and he took solace in the idea that some things were universal.

There was a disruption, though, at a table by the wall. Everyone in the room seem to gravitate around that point, around whatever guest had made himself an attraction, and Volstagg was hardly the sort to miss out on entertainment.

It —no, _he_, that was definitely a male— was blue, and covered in… what was that, scars? No, not scars. They were too neat, too symmetrical, and didn't mark the skin the way scars did. It must have been some kind of tattoo or natural marking. If they were natural markings, it wouldn't be so unusual, Volstagg mused, seeing as he had just been served food by a green woman with purple stripes. But the blue man kept his attention anyway. Red eyes flashed, but they weren't unfriendly— sad, perhaps, or maybe angry. Maybe both.

"Really, everythin' was lookin' up," the blue man's voice drifted across the tavern (very angry, very sad, Volstagg was right). He had the rapt attention of all those around him; even the people on the opposite side of the tavern were allowing him sidelong glances or outright stares, so Volstagg did his best to listen as well. Maybe this blue person was important, or, better yet, he was telling a story. "Word was, them folks up with the royalty was decidin' to make a contract with Midgard —er, Terra, you'd call it— and oh, there was plans bein' made. Folks was goin' to cultivate the icy places— Midgardians can't survive in ice. We'd be doin' them a favor. An alliance was gonna be made, and Asgard wasn't gonna ignore us no more."

He swayed, drunk enough to loosen his lips but not enough to put him on the floor. "The queen was somethin'. Did I tell you about the queen? Pretty thing, from way out—" his arm swung out and allowed one hand to flop limply at his wrist, "—out there, past the tundra, colder than the River Ifing. Opposite side of the whole Realm than me, but it was really somethin', seein' one of us rural folks on the throne. I was there, you see, in Utgard. Saw the wedding. Saw her. Everyone thought it was a sign that things was changin'. What with a lowborn like that becomin' queen of the realm."

A pretty story, if not lacking in excitement. The word Utgard sounded vaguely familiar to Vostagg, but he could not imagine that this blue creature was speaking of one of Yggdrasil's realms. Despite having mentioned Asgard ignoring them (whoever _they_ were, but it seemed unlikely, Asgard never_ ignored _anything), there was no possibility that a peasant would take a realm-commanding throne in Yggdrasil and the Allfather did not hear of it. Everyone would have known. It was practically unheard of, except for in Vanaheim, but Vanaheim had little care for who was of what rank or class, so it didn't matter there.

"But he gory king went mad. Madder than a worm-brained deorn. Nobody knew about it for a long time, 'cause it happened real slow and then we all found out the queen was gonna have a babe. Everybody thought that might be why the king was actin' off. But, nah, he was mad. In-_sane_, I tell you. Then the radicals got their claws in him, and they're just as crazy as he was. Runnin' around in nothin' but kilts, screamin' fire and murder, the dunces. It's their fault. Attackin' Midgard, twistin' the king's brain about, scarin' people into not fightin' back."

The blue man suddenly snarled and flung the table over with surprising ease, and ale, or something that looked and smelled enough like ale that Volstagg wanted a pint of it for himself, sloshed across the floor along with shattered glass. Those who had been close bolted away, mindful of the glass at their feet, but the blue man caught one —a funny little pink person— by the ear and pulled him close. The pink man squirmed helplessly against his captor's unexpected strength. Volstagg reached for the dagger at his hip, ready to defend the pink man if the blue one got out of hand. Maybe he was a good deal stronger that he looked, but it was doubtful that he could match the strength of an Asgardian, especially one Volstagg's size.

"And now I'm stuck here," the blue man hissed to the pink one, their noses nearly touching. "Stuck away from my home because the _damned_ Ӕsir couldn't just beat the radicals back, they had to damn well follow them back to Jotunheim and punish _us_, too, and block us off from everything else. Planet's quarantined like our whole species is a disease, and 'cause I was away at the wrong time, _I'm damn well stuck out here_."

The pink man shrieked in fear, and Volstagg moved to rescue him. The blue man moved faster, which was an impressive feat with the pink man in tow.

"Ah-ah-ah!" the man taunted Volstagg as if scolding a child. Volstagg took quick note of the dark blue claws that were digging against the pink man's flesh, the sharp ends drawing out pinpricks of blood. "Ooh, looky-looky, an _As-gard-i-an_. Pleasure. You here to kill me for not sittin' in time-out like a good little jötunn? Hm?"

"You're no frost giant," Volstagg said. The pink man was being held to the side now, but still locked in an iron grip.

The blue man rolled his eyes with a snort. "Of course not. Ignorant sod."

"Look, just let the man go."

"Let who, now?" The blue man glanced down and seemed to realize that he still had a captive. "Aah. Excuse me, little man— rude when I'm drunk. Shame on me."

He didn't sound drunk. He sounded psychotic. But what would Volstagg know?

The blue man —Volstagg would not admit that he was a frost giant, for he obviously wasn't, and he'd said so himself— released the pink man without another word. He turned his red eyes back to Volstagg and snarled, baring sharp teeth and pinning his pointed ears flat back against his head.

"Fight me if you feel up to the challenge, Asgardian, or go back to your meal and pretend that you ain't sentenced my people to death, bindin' them to a dyin' realm without their Relic. Be quick 'bout it."

Volstagg took in the blue man's appearance. Disheveled, tired, struggling to breathe despite his eloquent speech, too drunk to stand without swaying. This was not something he could fight with honor. This was a lost creature that reminded him more of an injured dog backed into a corner than anything else. Maybe he _was_ a runt jötunn, or maybe he was just crazy. Probably crazy. But Volstagg could not fight the man in good conscience.

He turned back to his meal, and the blue man's broken laughter reached his ears. _Mad. Insane. Leave him be._

"Lying, fork-tongued creature," Volstagg muttered over a mouthful of, wincing as he crunched down on an unexpected bone. The sound of unsteady footsteps and glass being kicked away alerted him to the not-jötunn's departure. He didn't turn to watch. "Liar."

He went back to Asgard with his father, feeling experienced and worldly and pleased with himself. He told stories to his friends of what he'd seen and done, each one more exaggerated than the previous, but despite that, Volstagg didn't breathe a word of what the blue man had said. Not a word.

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**My apologies for another incredibly short chapter, but this is really the only way to make the transition into…well, you'll see. And Gunnlod wasn't even ****_mentioned_**** the original version of this story, and now she's so important. How did this happen?**

**Now that I'm a bit more comfortable with the direction this story is heading in, I'm going to once again invite you to post requests – things you might want to see in Loki's childhood or references from Norse mythology that you might want a cameo for. PM me or review. Now, I'm perfectly fine with a PM, but I am more likely to notice a review simply because I check those to see who I need to reply to.**

**T.R.****: Oh, wow, you made me blush and do a happy dance. That was just the most brilliant thing to read. Thank you so much. Also, if it makes you happy, I'm thinking of writing another non-Loki story so that all of Loki's feels don't burn me out. I just need, y'know, a fresh plot and a fandom that isn't too bogged down. Hugs and cookies to you too! **

**Kekeh****: I do too, dear, I do too. There's actually a lot of sad stuff in this story, but I promise that this has a happy ending.**

**Armand****: Armand! My buddy! Welcome back. I hope you do well on your tests. And I love leaving notes for you guys, but they were making the chapters look so much bigger than they really were, it felt like I was cheating the word count, so I'm just cutting them down to size. And everything's doing fine on my side of the computer, thank you.**

**fan girl 666****: Thank you, thank you. *bows***

**Io's Torment****: More cuteness to come, I promise.**

**REVIEWS INSPIRE ME.**


	6. Three Days of Mind

**It was brought to my attention by a justly concerned reviewer that I may not have stated the 'rules' of this story thoroughly, so: There will be no slash, no mpreg, the jötnar are not hermaphrodites, no profanity stronger than damn, Loki will not genderbend/shapeshift and will not be giving birth to ****_anything_****, and while I will give winks and nods to Norse mythology, this is still Marvel movie-based and I will ****_not_**** be going into any of the inexplicably weird things that are in the mythology unless I can twist them into not-weird things.**

**Sing praises to the great ****aylithe****, who took this mess that I dared to call a chapter and turned it into something worth reading.**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: Very brief, very mild, unconfirmed implication of rape. You might not even catch it. Plus rather obvious but completely non-graphic implications/mentions of sex because Laufey and Farbauti are married and Loki is not the virgin birth, okay?**

**COOKIE: For those of you who watch ****_Agents of SHIELD_****, you know what the last part of this chapter is about. If you catch it, tell me in a review, and I will nerd-salute you.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

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**Chapter: Three Days of Mind**

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_So teach us to number our days, so we may apply our hearts unto wisdom._

_– __Psalms 90:12_

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Laufey held his son in his arms, and Loki leant into his chest. Farbauti watched them, whilst the guards pretended not to.

Sometimes, when he had mind enough to actually think for himself, Laufey wondered how his son seemed to take everything in stride. Because the boy had seen Laufey's madness, the violence that came with it, but when Farbauti told Loki that Laufey was safe, and that he remembered, Loki had run to meet his sire. Laughed. Called for his dam to hurry. Jumped into Laufey's arms and forced them both into an undignified heap on the floor (Loki was not heavy, but Laufey no longer felt strong).

And Laufey was _not_ crying. No. Certainly not. Especially not in front of his wife (which was ridiculous, because Farbauti had _made_ him cry before, but he still had his pride).

"What… What in_ Pit_ am I wearing?" Laufey asked, half to himself and half to Farbauti. He needed to get a hold on himself and stop sniffling. He really had no idea what it was that he was wearing, other than it was small and didn't cover much. He distinctly remembered the radicals wearing … what was it, kilts? Dear Shiloh, they were _dressing _him like one of them.

"Do not blame me." There was a flash of displeasure in his wife's tone that told Laufey that he was right about the radicals and this was more than a mild clothing disaster, followed by an amused smirk. "Unlike _before_, I do not _dress_ you."

_If _one or two of the guards sniggered, Laufey pointedly ignored it. Because he was the king, and he was going to have some level of maturity about this. It was completely his own fault that he had married a woman who gave him the urge to act two thousand years younger than he was, so he would simply have to practice self-control and be an adult. Even if he was sprawled on the floor. And crying. Which he _wasn't_. "Loki!" he exclaimed suddenly, mostly in an attempt to pull himself out of his thoughts.

Loki shifted so that he was perched on Laufey's leg, which put them nearly eye-to-eye."Yes, Sire?"

"You grew."

"I did. I grew a lot since last time."

Last time. _How long has it been? _Laufey wondered, because it was true that Loki had grown a noticeable amount. He had grown quite a bit, and a child his age, especially a Halfkind child, shouldn't have grown so much. Unless he wasn't the age that Laufey thought he was, which in turn meant that years had passed by. An impressive amount of years, at a guess, and that guess made Laufey's gut churn because it meant that he was older. And Farbauti was older too. She had more leeway than he did— she was much younger than him. But... Part of his life was gone. Not a few days or even a few months, but years enough that a _substantial measure of his life was gone_ and he could not remember it.

"Impressive," Laufey said, voice cracking. Whether it was from his insane other self's screaming or from the tears (what tears?), he did not know, but his throat felt wrong. "Have you been good for your dam?"

Loki nodded vehemently, obviously eager to please and impress. "How long will you stay this time?"

_How long will you stay this time? _As if Laufey had come back from a long journey instead of simply having temporarily beaten back his own insanity— a perfectly childish way of expressing such a strange concept. Well, if that made his son feel better, Laufey wouldn't correct him. The boy was already under harsher conditions than should have ever been; he could be allowed this one childish illusion.

Or it wasn't an illusion and Loki was doing this for Laufey's benefit. Which was unlikely, because children simply weren't that shrewd.

"I do not know," was the only answer Laufey could give his son, and it was the truth. He had no idea. In fact, as much joy as holding Loki gave him aside, Laufey was eager to hand the boy off. It was dangerous. If he snapped and Loki was too close, well…. Someone Loki's size was so incredibly breakable. "But I will try to stay for as long as I can."

"That you will," Farbauti commented —ordered— from just beyond his line of sight. Laufey turned to smile at her.

She put her slim hand on his shoulder and the touch felt foreign, reminding him once again of the passing years. How long had it been since they had been together? His… _other self_, did he take advantage of her? Or had they truly gone all this long while —Loki's whole childhood, however long that was— without coupling? It had little effect on him, but he was not experiencing the passage of time as she was. "Laufey? What is it?"

"I am weary." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized them to be true. The rush of excitement from being awake had dissipated and he was suddenly aware of how horribly he ached. Panic burned his brain and he completely ignored that the guards were watching in order "I cannot sleep, Farbauti, do not let me sleep. If I fall asleep, I— I might—"

"I know." It had happened, before: he'd gained back his mind only to fall asleep and lose it again. "We can stay up as long as you like. Loki can stay with Gunnlod tonight."

"Can he really?"

Farbauti raised an eyebrow, hearing the thinly veiled suggestion. Something about her expression was reminisce of the intimacy-shy young girl he had once known —he could just hear what she would have said to him, when they were still newlyweds:_ not in front of the guards, Laufey, __**some propriety**_— but the mischievous glint in her eye told him that she was thinking along the same lines as he was. "Oh, yes. Really."

**oooOOOooo**

Loki was an early riser. Dam often chastised him for it, never too seriously, but with a note of exasperation (which meant _exhaustion_ in her case, but those were both big words that he liked). Loki thought it was silly for them to stay up all night and sleep the perfectly good sunlight away, but they all did it. He had once thought that it was something adults agreed on, so they could all be awake at the same time, but it was Fjörgyn who told him that it was simply natural, and that they only reason they were ever up during the day was so that they could take care of _him_.

_Nocturnal_, was the word. She promised him that soon, his eyes would change, and then he would be able to see in the dark like adults did, and it would be much easier to stay up at night. Loki didn't understand how anybody could see in the dark, because it was… well, _dark_. But then he remembered how many times he had gotten lost in the lightless Underhalls of the palace and Dam or Fjörgyn had found him so easily. It made sense. In a way.

But just because he understood that they liked the dark better didn't mean that he was going to make it easy for them. The sun was up, so he was awake. If he was awake, he was going to go about his business as usual, unhindered by everyone else's silly sleeping habits.

The sun had been up for a while when Loki crept away from the soundly sleeping Gunnlod and navigated the twisting halls of the palace to find his dam's room. He found it empty, which was odd. Being _nocturnal_ (he liked that word, it felt quite smart, just like _exasperation_), she would have gone to sleep a while ago. At a guess, they could be in Sire's private rooms, but those were a mess. Maybe... the shared room. A king and queen always had separate rooms, and then a shared suite. Of course, that was where they would be.

Loki was right. He found Sire and Dam, lying side by side under a pile of oddly tangled blankets, talking in hushed voices. They looked tired, but it was midday; had they not slept at all?

"Dam?" Loki suddenly felt shy. This wasn't normal. His parents, together, as he knew parents should be despite never having seen such a thing for himself. His sire was always separate from them, only becoming part of the family for short bursts of time that were few and far between. He wasn't sure what to say.

Sire looked up at him and began to laugh. Dam's face was disapproving. "This is _not_ funny," she said, chastising Sire with a sharp tone of voice and a sharper smack across his arm. Her ears twitched back unhappily.

"It is, though!" he exclaimed, grinning. He gestured for Loki to come closer, and Loki obliged. "If he'd decided to come looking for you just a bit earlier—"

"_I_ would have been stuck explaining it to him, you dunce. Not funny." But Dam was smiling, so whatever they were talking about must have been at least a little bit funny. _Adults and their adult-secrets. Silly._

"Explain what, Dam?" Loki asked, perching himself on Sire's thigh. Sire began to laugh again.

"An adult thing, dearest," Dam said, shooting Sire a dark look. "Like the council meetings."

Sire raised a brow. "Like council meetings, eh? That boring?"

"Those have been more interesting than not in your absence. Loki, _why_ are you up so late?"

Loki frowned. "It is _daytime_."

Sire looked surprised. "His eyes have not settled yet?"

"He was late to walk, too," Dam said. Loki's frown deepened. He didn't like that he was late. And he wasn't late with _everything_. He'd started talking early, hadn't he? And everyone said he was smart for his age, so his brain wasn't late. The rest of him just didn't keep up very well.

"Well, that is just fine," Sire said, twisting so that Loki could sit on his lap. "Sometimes that late ones turn out to be the best. _I_ was late."

Loki doubted that, but he could see what Sire was trying to do. He didn't say so, though. Sometimes, he would point it out when he caught an adult saying something they didn't mean, and they would always look at him strangely. _Smart for his age_, people always said, and Loki supposed that he believed it, but that couldn't be all. Anyone could be smart, but he wasn't just smart, was he? Knowing about _nocturnal_ and _exasperation _was smart, yes, but he was… clever. Clever and smart weren't the same thing. At least, Loki didn't think so.

Or maybe it wasn't that complicated, and he was simply _smart_. But there was more than clever, and more than smart. He could feel it. Dam could feel it too, he thought, but she didn't use it very often. There was energy in everything, mostly in the ice, but in everything else, too. Fjörgyn had spoken of magic, once, but not as if she expected him to be aware of it. Maybe it was another _smart for his age_ sort of thing.

Loki sat back on his Sire's thigh and decided, for the moment, that he didn't care about the difference between clever and smart or about whether or not he could really feel magic. His parents were together, and life was good. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

**oooOOOooo **

Winter on Midgard would never be half as cold or as dark as the winters on Jotunheim, but they were still pleasantly chilled. That, Bölthorn thought, was one of Midgard's only redeeming virtues.

He was a giant. There wasn't much to his heritage, and he had no riches to his name other than a plot of land where he had raised domesticated deorns for most of his life. He had lived with his wife, Bestla, and nearly every day had been pleasantly simple and same. He'd been satisfied with that, and so had Bestla. He'd promised her, before he left, that he'd be back in no time at all. He was going on Queen Farbauti's orders, to protect the king and keep the radicals from doing too much damage. They simply hadn't foreseen that King Laufey would take the Casket with him. It'd complicated things, but … he had still promised. He'd sworn to the crown and promised to Bestla, and that trumped complications.

He shouldn't have made a promise that he couldn't keep.

It became very obvious after the first ten years that no one was coming back for him. He'd been left behind on accident, after all, and they might not even know that he needed rescuing. It'd make sense that he'd been killed, so Bölthorn had made himself comfortable in Midgard. There were mountains, too high and too cold for the Midgardians' liking, but perfect for him. Jötnar were natural climbers, and he'd found caves that were easily made comfortable.

But, unlike on Jotunheim, the mountains weren't alive. Very little lived up in the heights, and while a Halfkind could have hibernated for a year or more without much worry, Bölthorn was a giant. If he was going to hibernate, he needed food first. A lot of it. So he'd climb down the slopes to the flatlands where, thankfully, there were farmers. The animals were small and had more wool than anything Bölthorn had ever seen, but they had enough meat on them to be worth the chase. Not that Bölthorn condoned stealing, but in his mind, he liked to think that he was doing the farmers a favor. He only picked off the sick and the ill-bred. Sometimes the little beasts were already dead when he found them. He felt like more of a scavenger than anything else.

He occasionally had to fight off a pack of wolves for his find, but the wolves here were nothing like those on Jotunheim. These were scrawny little things, not even a third the size of a Jotunheim wolf. More like wild dogs than anything else, and certainly not enough to cause him concern.

The Midgardians, on the other hand, were a different story. He'd managed to avoid them, but generations of Midgardians had come and gone since the war had taken place and he'd become… careless. Which was stupid of him, he realized, since the Midgardians had done nothing but spread and multiply over the years, but none of them had ventured up the mountains, so he hadn't worried. They were the keepers of his main food source, after all. They weren't a bad thing. They just weren't creatures that he wanted to bother with.

In retrospect, maybe he should've just eaten the scrawny wolves and puny fish and left the wooly animals alone.

They came in the hottest season, riding on horses with baying dogs blazing the trail. Bölthorn might never have guessed that this was a hunting party, they were loud enough to scare any good prey off. But he did know about dogs, and that these were hunting dogs. They were ugly and not very large, and held not of the threat that even the scrawny wolves did, so they couldn't be for taking down prey. Just tracking it. What they wanted so high up in the mountains….

Bölthorn pushed a boulder down and sent them scattering. But the dogs were good, very good, and they found him again. The men came with their weak swords and weaker armor. Bölthorn didn't want to kill them. He had come here to defend them from his own king, after all, and it didn't seem right, but what had he ever done to them? Stolen some dying livestock?

They didn't know Common speech. He could hardly expect them to understand his native tongue, so he tried his limited understanding of Allspeak. Maybe, if the language barrier could be breached, they would be reasonable.

Of course not.

Allspeak and Common speech were both similar enough to the language spoken by the Midgardians that some of what he said — shouted from a safe distance — was understood by them, or so he thought, but it was like talking through a sheet of ice. Some got through, but not enough. He should've remembered that this wasn't a party of professionals. This was a band of frightened people, chasing after what they perceived to be a monster. This was a mob, and there was no negotiating with a mob. The radicals had taught him that. Midgardians, it seemed, weren't so very different from jötnar. They had weak coloring and no heritage marks and they climbed like infants, but still… Bölthorn could see the similarities. It wasn't their fault. He was to them what a dragon would have been to a shepherding village on Jotunheim.

It was a shame, really. Maybe, had he come in peace to them at the very beginning, things would have been different. But they weren't, so he turned and ran.

The higher up the mountain he climbed, and the steeper the trails he used, the further his hunters fell behind. It didn't deter them for a good long ways, though, so when they suddenly stopped and turned tail, he should've realized something was wrong. They'd left behind their horses and could surely climb the terrain, as difficult as it was, and Bölthorn couldn't see why they'd give up now. But he was tired and the day was late and he wanted to sleep, so he didn't care.

Bölthorn found himself on the edge of a sheer drop that he had not come across before. He could just turn around, but the truth was that he had no idea where he was. He must have taken a wrong turn in his hurried escape, or perhaps he had climbed too far when he should have stopped farther back down the trail. Backtracking on this rough landscape was easier said than done, and it was going to take a while.

"Damn it to the Pit," was the only comment he could give to the whole situation.

The Midgardians appeared without warning, suddenly at his back and leaving no room to run. Damn it to the Pit, indeed.

Bölthorn's first thought was that he could kill them, but could he really? It would only be self-defense, but Bestla would never touch him again if she found out. The very idea of his wife's disapproval was enough to cross that idea away (he would very likely never see her again, but it still _mattered_). Or he could simply run through them, but that would end up with injuries for all of them and there was no telling how far he could run. Going backwards would bemore difficult than going forwards on terrain like this. It'd involve a good deal of slipping and sliding, and if one slip or slide went wrong, he could land himself in an even worse position than he was already in.

That left the cliff-drop. Would he survive the fall?

Bölthorn spared a glance to judge the distance. He wouldn't survive uninjured, that he knew, but he didn't know if he would survive at all.

_Is this it, then?_ he thought. _What was my purpose? I've done nothing of any importance with my life, left no mark. Is this it, Shiloh? Is this how you let me die?_

The Midgardians pushed forward and Bölthorn let himself fall.

If he'd been gifted with Far Sight, perhaps Bölthorn would have found joy in knowing that Bestla had discovered her pregnancy only days after he'd left her, and that his young sons' names were Vili and Vé. He might also have found some comfort to know that Bestla wasn't alone, hat with the belief that Bölthorn was dead, ad married a giant named Borr. He'd taken her and her sons to live in the great city of Utgard, where the boys were receiving a fine education and Bestla was being as pampered as she deserved to be.

But he didn't know any of this.

Bölthorn died slowly. He didn't feel anything— and he was no healer, but he was rather sure that the crack he heard was his own spine breaking, so he lay completely still, without the knowledge of what good his existence had done, or what impact his very death would have upon the future.

He had a thought, though, that just because he couldn't _see_ the good he'd done, it didn't mean that he hadn't done any good at all. And, maybe in what came after death, he would find out what he didn't know.

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**In Norse mythology, Bestla is actually Bölthorn's daughter, but what the heck, she's not in this version. So, for you Norse geeks, no, that was not even slightly incest (not that Norse mythology cares either way about incest, if my research shows anything).**

**Wow, guys, ****_NINE_**** reviews. That's a record for me. Thank you so much.**

**Io's Torment****: Thank you.**

**Guest****: Thank you. I wasn't trying to make you angry at Volstagg, although I suppose that's a reasonable response….**

**PeaceHeather****: Short story: Oh yeah. Volstagg will definitely come into play later. I wanted it to be Fandral, but by my guestimation, he was too young. Maybe in a later chapter…**

**Armand****: Yes, it ****_was_**** well played, wasn't it? I'm so proud of myself. Step 547 of my evil plan is complete….**

**sirensbane****: Ooh, ****_there's_**** an idea…**

**fastreader12****: Aww, thanks.**

**fan girl 666****: May this one be just as good.**

**T.R.****: It's an eternal circle of happiness! As you can see, I addressed your concerns above. You did not cross any lines and I appreciated you being honest with me about everything. Like I've said, this is an experimental fic, so the reviewers' opinions take priority this time. You didn't say a single thing that I didn't agree with. Sleipnir was in the Thor movie with no explanation of his origins, and I'm assuming that Loki didn't have horse pregnancy in the MCU, so there will be a perfectly reasonable explanation for things like that. No worries, and no reason to abandon ship.**

**Queen Amaryllis Kay****: Yes, Loki is going to be awesome. As far as writing advice goes, I would be glad to give you some (I am the Happy Advice Giver!), but you'll have to be more specific. Is it original or fanfiction? Do you need advice on style, characterization, or are you still outlining your plot? What kind of story are we talking about and what is it exactly that you need advice about?**


	7. Blood Marks the Door

**IIMPORTANT NOTE TO KEEP YOU FROM GETTING UPSET WITH ME: This chapter is super-short because it was meant to be part of the next chapter, but it wouldn't fit or flow nicely, so what you're getting is an early update. The next chapter is more than halfway finished, so it shouldn't be ****_too_**** long before it's posted. Either way, this tiny chapter only serves to benefit you.**

**Somebody asked me why Heimdall didn't just tell Odin that things were all messed up in Jotunheim, so this chapter sets up an explanation for that ( but shh, spoilers, cuz it won't be explained in full til chapter twenty-something). Yay. Also, praises to ****aylithe****, the brilliant editor of this story who catches all of my idiotic mistakes.**

**Chapter Warnings: Major violence (not especially graphic, but kind of scary), and blood (because violence).**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

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**Chapter Seven: Blood Marks the Door**

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_Last night a king in orb and crown_

_Held court with splendid cheer;_

_Today he tears his purple gown_

_And moans and shrieks in fear._

_Not iron bars, nor flashing spears,_

_Not land, nor sky, nor sea,_

_Nor love's artillery of tears_

_Can keep mine own from me._

– Excerpt from "Madness," a poem by Joyce Kilmer

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Laufey kept his sanity for three glorious days. The radicals had made themselves scarce during those days, and Loki fearlessly bonded with his sire. Everything had been good, so good that Farbauti could hardly believe it was true. But it _was_ true, for three days, but perhaps more caution should have been heeded.

The fourth night came, and the peace was shattered by Farbauti's scream as Laufey used a shard of glass to tear her thigh open. His sanity had not lasted.

Gunnlod had some choice words to express about the situation.

"A month ago, you said you would leave, a month, and now look! This may never heal correctly, Farbauti. Without the Casket's power, I have been reduced to savage technique." Gunnlod held up a bloody needle just to illustrate the archaic tools she was forced to use. Farbauti did not give her much of a response. Her mind only held two things in focus— the pain radiating down her thigh and the fact that her husband was gone. Again. But Gunnlod continued without noticing Farbauti's lack of attention, "I know I was against your leaving before, and it pains me to admit this, but I change my mind! I change my mind, do you hear? You are victorious! Leave the palace! Rule from a distance, use Vafthrudnir, run to the _Eddas_ for all I care, but to stay here is folly."

Farbauti only grit her teeth through the pain of the stitches and Gunnlod's tirade. And her grief. She had thought that Laufey had returned to her, that it was all over. Now he was even worse than before. Laufey's madness had two faces— the crazed and confused being the first, and the hatefully aware second. It was the second face that had woken to that evening, grinned as he cut her, as she screamed. That vile version of her husband had never been the dominant side of the madness, but now it was the only side to come forward. That side was dangerous. That side thought things out and aimed before it struck, and it aimed with hate and anger and the need to cause suffering.

"Farbauti, do you even hear me?"

"No," Farbauti murmured, too subdued to snap or snarl. "No."

Gunnlod finished the last stitch on Farbauti's leg and immediately stood to bring herself close to the younger woman's face. "Child, if you curl all up inside yourself now, I swear to Shiloh that I will take Loki away. Do you hear me? He lost his sire, again, and you need to be strong for him. None of this self-pity, not now. You are the _queen_, and a dam. Now you have some decisions to make and you need to make them _quickly_, before anyone else gets hurt. You should have left long ago and I am sorry that I discouraged you from that, but you need to go. Decisions to be made, my dear."

Farbauti stared at Gunnlod. For all the old woman's rock-headed stubbornness and bouts of highbred prejudice, words from Gunnlod were usually the best advice to be taken. _Cry later_, Farbauti thought, because she needed to, _and listen to the old girl._

"What decisions?" asked Farbauti. Her thoughts were tangled with grief and her soul was withering in pain. Was this really the best time to be making important choices? Maybe not, but time was short, and Loki was at even more risk that she was, so waiting was out of the question.

"You have to leave the palace, but you cannot go too far and you cannot live alone." Gunnlod's mouth pressed into a thin, wrinkled line. "You could go to Mímir."

"I thought Mímir was mad. That _is_ what everyone says," was Farbauti's instant reaction to Mímir's name; she had had enough of insane people to last for a lifetime and more.

"Oh, he is," Gunnlod conceded, "but people mean that in the nicest way. He would protect you, and Loki. You are related by law, after all, and Loki is his nephew."

Farbauti paused, ears twitching. "I forgot about that. I suppose I should have met him long ago. In fact, it is odd that I have not. Laufey was very fond of him."

Gunnlod grunted a most unladylike sound. "If you say so. But I warn you— Loki is about to learn some very distasteful habits."

"Oh, _fantastic_."

**oooOOOooo**

Frigga watched Thor from a distance, keeping a careful eye on him. That boy worried her sometimes, running about like a yearling bilgesnipe with no concern of where he might end up or what he might trample over on his way there. He seemed to live in a blur of golden movement, never stopping for a moment.

"How is our firstborn, my love?"

With a pleased smile, Frigga leaned back onto Odin's chest. "He's well enough. But you really need to teach him to look before he leaps. He nearly went head first into a stream today."

Odin chuckled lightly. He wrapped his arms around his wife's middle, confident that from this corner of the gardens, he could make this more_ personal_ display of affection in public; there were standards of propriety to be held up, after all. His eye settled on his son. "Well, we never have to worry about getting him to bed. He exhausts himself before the sun goes down."

"Convenient for us."

"And how is our _second_?" Odin asked, gently drawing his hand over his wife's slightly swollen stomach. Frigga's pregnancy brought a relief that Odin hadn't realized he needed. Oh, it brought its own sort of anxious tension, but the promise of a second heir had staved off his indomitably savage advisors, for the time being. If Thor had been found unsuitable to take the throne, one of his distant cousins would have become heir, and the politicians would have had their claws in the child the second the title was passed. So, this was their security. Frigga's second child, even if it was girl, would secure their claim on the throne.

"Fine."

Odin couldn't see his wife's face, but he knew that tone in her voice. "Is something wrong?"

Frigga pursed her lips into a flat line. "Heimdall has been… restless. He says that he has a great deal of difficulty seeing Jotunheim."

_And of course, he would tell you before he mentions it to me_, Odin thought with some exasperation. "I was unaware."

"He fears not being able to fulfill his duties properly," Frigga explained, soothing over her husband's slight sense of hurt. "Jotunheim is ours to watch over, despite our estrangement."

"I would not worry." Odin rested his chin on Frigga's shoulder. "Jotunheim is cut off, no one may leave, and no one may enter. They are safe from outsiders. If they face troubles from within, then that is their own matter to settle. I would not interfere with their internal affairs. No, Jotunheim, of all the realms, is the most secure. Heimdall need not worry."

"But what if Jotunheim is only the beginning? What if his Sight is failing, and— _Thor!_ Thor, stop that, before you fall in! Oh… _oh_, that boy, I swear..." Frigga sagged against Odin. "I don't know what to do with him. Or Heimdall. I swear to Valhalla that I had never even seen Heimdall flustered, and now he has worried himself into knots. The immovable Heimdall: stressed."

"I will have Eir examine him, just to be safe," Odin promised. He released her from his hold and turned her about to kiss her cheek and give a reassuring smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pull our son out from the fountain."

"Quickly, please, before he decides to play with the fish."

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**I am so happy to get everyone's reviews. Whenever I get one, I do a little dance. Happened in WalMart one time… nobody even noticed that I was waltzing down the aisles, which just proves the weirdness of WalMart. Also, seeing as ****PeaceHeather****, ****Armand****, and ****T.R.**** have become my most regular and helpful reviewers thus far in the revamp of this fic, I pronounce them my minions. They have no choice in the matter. I will call them my minions and they shall be mine, and they shall be my minions. But it's not too late! You can be my minion too, just send me a PM or a review! Ooh, I made a rhyme. I think I'm channeling Deadpool. Yay, nerd-fest.**

**PeaceHeather****: Thank you. And I know, poor Bölthorn. I actually got little emotional with that. I… get attached to characters quickly. You can imagine what a mess I am when I read books and everybody dies.**

**Armand****: NERD-SALUTE! You got it in one. Bölthorn is the TAHITI alien. I thought it was a little sad when I watched AoS, so I decided to give him a background story and make it even MORE sad. I am evil.**

**fastreader12****: You're welcome. I'm going to try for as many updates as possible this summer because I have plenty of classes scheduled for Fall semester at college and I want to leave my lovely readers with something to hold onto during that time.**

**a.k.a. T.R.****: Thank you, thank you, thank you. And I knew it was you! Impossible to mistake you for anyone else. Also, Nerd-Salute. You guessed correctly. I don't want to give you AoS spoilers, because the mystery is half the fun, so I'll leave it with that. But it will be coming up again in this story, trust me, so you had better begin an ****_Agents of SHIELD_**** marathon as soon as possible.**

**ladymacbeth99****: Ok, your review made me grin like an idiot for about an hour. Thank you so much for reviewing. It's nice to know that readers care about the little details. The title "Brothers" comes from a lot of things, firstly from Loki's relationship with his actual brothers, then with Thor, then there's the more subtle brothers-in-arms/shield-brothers theme with other characters that will be seen a lot later in the story, and Loki even has a kingly bro-hood with Odin, in a way. There are other reasons, but those would be spoilers. And, wait, you had tears? There was literal eye-watering? Really?**

**Queen Amaryllis Kay****: Yes, cuteness everywhere. My blessings upon your writing journey.**

**ena****: You're welcome, you're welcome, I completely agree, you're welcome, wow, you're making me blush, and thank you. I'm not really naughty, I just wanted to show what Farbauti and Laufey were like. Plus, it was rather important to an upcoming plot point (guess why, as if it's not obvious). No, don't starve! And, hey, YOU WERE MY ONE-HUNDREDTH REVIEW! YAY!**


	8. Law and Gain

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

**WARNINGS: This chapter might get a little triggery, because sort-of character death. I dunno. Nothing graphic, just a little bit sad. **

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**Chapter Eight: Loss and Gain**

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_"__No parent should have to bury their child."_

– Quote from "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers," a film based on Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy

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For two days, Thor was the proud big brother of a tiny girl, just as Frigga and Odin were proud parents.

On the third day, they were not.

"This happens, sometimes," Eir had explained to Thor when he did not understand why his perfect, tiny sister was suddenly gone. "There was nothing to be done for her, Thor. She simply was not strong enough."

Thor didn't believe that. On the day she was born, she had gripped his finger so tightly that he could not pull away. She had been strong. Clearly, Eir did not know what she was talking about, or she was lying to him. Knowing the wisdom of Eir, Thor doubted that it was the former, but he could not imagine a reason for the latter.

Then again, sometimes adults just _lied_. About silly, foolish things, they would lie, and Thor loathed it. He sometimes missed it, sometimes didn't notice that he had been lied to until a time had passed and it no longer mattered, but it still made him angry. He wanted to know, and how could he ever know if he was being lied to? Maybe, when he was older, he would do the same and understand why. Then he would know.

Some speculated that it was the alignment of the stars, but anyone of learning knew that it was superstition talking. Others, in the privacy of dark corners, whispered that it must have been Queen Frigga, and that something was wrong with her. That was without merit, seeing as Frigga had given birth to Thor and Thor was without flaw. Then, there were a few, just a few, that said it was the winter. Winter had not come to Asgard in nearly a decade (the seasons on Asgard did as they pleased in no particular order, mostly settling on summer), but it came on time for the birth of the princess. At the time, it had been called a good omen, but now it was being called a bad one.

Winter came, and the princess died.

Thor did not play in the snow. Other children did, but not him. Sif, the pretentious, golden-haired doll of the court that she was, also refused to 'make a fool of herself,' opting instead to stand beside Thor with a small, false smile fixed firmly onto her face, as it usually was. Usually, he would have left, but today, he could not bring himself to care.

"I grieve for you."

Thor lifted his head slightly. "What?"

"I have lost sisters, too," Sif continued, her face still set in serene pleasantness while her voice was anything but. "I only have one left. I know… how you _feel_, I believe."

Oh, she thought she knew about it? Thor frowned, an uncharacteristic expression on his face. "Mother and Father won't talk to me."

"They will, soon," said Sif, sounding all too knowing. And, if Thor remembered the tally of her dead siblings correctly (six, he thought, or was it more by now?), she _did_ know. She probably knew better than anyone. It was strange, to think of Sif knowing about anything that wasn't discussed in the court. "I know that patience is not your strong suit, but for them, you may want to expend some self-control."

At this, Thor _really_ scowled. "What would you know? All you do is flutter your eyelashes."

"I do as my father tells me to do!" she snapped back, her mask finally breaking. "My father wanted sons, not daughters. He wants to marry me off."

Marry her off? But Sif was only a little girl. She was even smaller than he was, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, Thor knew that he was still very young, and he certainly wasn't thinking about getting married. But for Sif to know that her father was _already_ trying to arrange… Thor shook his head, not wanting to dwell on that line of thought, but it already hooked itself in back of his mind. He did not like how it made him feel. "Forgive me."

"I _do_." There was that haughty tone again, although Thor could not take it so seriously, not as he did before. "And I will also warn you that it will not be long before you are a brother again."

"No_ riddles_, Sif," Thor groaned.

"Fine." Sif sidled closer to Thor, lowering her voice so that there was no chance of anyone hearing them. "The queen will be having another child as soon as possible. That is the way of it, when a mother loses an infant. Also, you cannot be the only heir. It is not safe."

"Why not?" asked Thor, confused. "I will be king, so what does it matter?"

"But what if you're _not_ king?" Sif said with a pointedly raised eyebrow. "What if something bad ever happens to you? Then what?"

Thor didn't know. It had never occurred to him that something _bad _could happen.

"Exactly. The house lords won't stand for it. Imagine how difficult it would be to transfer the throne to a new family. Imagine the upheaval. Imagine the _politics_." Sif used the word _politics_ like it would explain everything. "Everyone is very comfortable where they are now, and no one wants to tip the balance. That means that you need a sibling, for safety's sake."

"My mother doesn't have to have a babe if she doesn't want to," Thor stated, feeling defensive on his mother's behalf. "She's the queen."

Sif looked at Thor out of the corner of her eye, and perhaps Thor was mistaken, but her expression seemed almost pitying. "Being the queen does not make her free."

That was probably the most ridiculous thing that Sif had said yet, and he would have refuted her statement, if she had not turned away from him in dismissal.

"Go play in the snow, Thor," Sif said, sounding every bit like a queen in her own right. "Things will be back to the way they once were, if you act like you normally would."

Maybe Thor didn't believe most of what Sif said, but with things being as they were, so wrong and unhappy, he would not take the chance. And, besides, when would he get another chance to play in snow?

**oooOOOooo**

Loki wasn't a disobedient child. Not in the least. Yes, sometimes, he purposefully found the loopholes in rules, but he did not go out of his way to break them, either. If something was not to be touched, he did not touch it. If something was to remain unsaid, he would not be the one who said it. If a hall or room was restricted from access, he did not try to toe the line that was not to be crossed. But he would be called stupid before he did not ask_ why_ he had been told to do or not do something.

His dam saw it coming. Loki saw it in her face: that mildly panicked expression as she tried to pass him off to Fjörgyn so that she would not have to directly _tell him to leave_. Because if she did, if she told him to leave, he would ask why, and she would not be able to tell him without lying, which he knew she would not do. Loki was not a purposefully troublesome child (it just came naturally to him), but he did know _exactly _what he was doing when he did make trouble.

"Dam," he murmured, drawing close to her so that no one else would hear, "why do you want me to leave?"

Loki could imagine the answer. It was probably because she needed to talk about things too adult for him to hear. Frightening things. Not that he hadn't heard frightening things before. Of course he had. There were all sorts of stories Fjörgyn had used to scare him, but that was all they were. Just stories. The things his dam talked about were real. The monsters of Fjörgyn's stories would be completely different if Loki truly believed he might meet one, but he could not, so they remained unthreatening while Dam's secrets were frightening and thusly, off limits. This was the best possible answer to his question, and Loki could not think of another, but that did not mean he did not want to know.

He wanted to know everything, and he could hardly help being curious.

"What makes you say I want you to leave, my dear?"

Dam lifted Loki up onto her lap, allowing him to be eye-to eye with her. Loki liked his dam's eyes. He knew that his own eyes were shaped like his sire's, but he and his dam shared the same deep, dark shade of red. To have purely red eyes, not streaked with orange or yellow, was a trait only found in people of the north. Loki supposed, although he didn't know why, that he could take some pride in that.

"You tried to get Fjörgyn to take me without saying anything," Loki explained. "You only do that when you do not want me to ask why, and you only do_ that_ when you do not want me to know."

For some reason, Dam seemed to find this funny. She chuckled. "So, you know that I do not want you to know why."

"Of course." That was rather obvious, wasn't it?

"So why do you make a point of asking?"

"So, why?"

Dam sighed. "Because I am going to speak with your _uncle_."

She had said the word _uncle_ with a slight grimace, but that was not what caught Loki's attention. It was the fact that, unless his memory had failed him (unlikely), or the dead had risen (even more unlikely), he did not _have_ an uncle.

"But Uncle Nál is dead," Loki reminded his dam.

"Not that uncle, Loki. Your sire has a half-brother, Mímir."

"Oh." Not the most intelligent response, but it was all Loki could really think to say, with the exception of, "Are there any other uncles I do not know of?"

"Well," Dam said, only just seeming to realize that she hadn't told Loki something so important about his family background, "there is your Uncle Caldr, who is _my_ little brother, but I have not seen him since before you were born."

Loki felt a bit peeved to have not known these things. Really, it wasn't fair. These weren't the sort of things that he could learn from books, so how was he to know if someone did not _tell_ him? And why had no one bothered to mention that he had _two_ other uncles? "Is he dead too?"

Instantly, Loki regretted asking, because Dam suddenly looked very sad. "He very likely is, yes. If he were alive, I think we would have heard from him by now. It has been all your life."

"Oh." Again, Loki was left with not much else to say. But, then again, there was still the question of—

Whatever thought might have occurred to Loki was abruptly cut off by the loud sound of a crash.

In a flurry of movement, Dam shifted Loki to her hip and rushed to the balcony that overlooked the palace's huge entryway. They bother peered down to the people below —_people_ being sixteen guards —one toppled over and struggling to get up with the help of his peers— and a Halfkind man in brightly-colored robes who did not appear to be the least bit concerned by their predicament. In fact, he was walking without care —practically _dancing_— past the guards and into the palace, where he most certainly was not allowed to go.

"Dam," Loki whispered, afraid his voice might carry down in the huge chambers, "is he crazy?"

"He may be," Dam said slowly. "But, if I am right, I believe that it is less that he is crazy and simply that he is your sire's brother."

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**Thank you for all of your reviews. They really helped me refocus on getting this chapter written.**

**fastreader12****: Well, we're going to find out eventually, aren't we?**

**HaremBishie****: He's a curious child!**

**Armand****: I'm not one of the people of WalMart, I'm just happy. Congratulations on becoming a minion. It suits you. Now, let us channel Deadpool together as Mastermind and Minion. MUAHAHAHA!**

**Mynean Rebel****: You have no idea how much your review meant to me. I mean, just, ****_wow_****. You made my month. I haven't been able to give this story 100% because reasons, so it's not my best work, but it's great to know that someone appreciates it so much. Now, I didn't realize that I was giving people Laufey feels until just recently, because I wasn't even trying, but now that I'm aware, I feel like such a jerk because I know it's only going to get worse. I'm so, so sorry, but if you're having feels at this point, I'm afraid that your feels will be completely broken before this story ends (which is a ****_long_**** ways off). And Frigga is safe, for a while, because she and Loki will eventually meet, but plenty of other characters are going to die in a burning ball of feels, so… Warning to those easily brought to tears: grab tissue box. **

**a.k.a. T.R.****: I'm not a Supernatural fan myself, but I know how a TV series can suck you in, especially when an awesome fandom is backing it up. Don't worry; I will anchor you back to Loki. Now, get yourself some blue overalls and a pair of goggles, because you're a minion, baby. Rock the minionhood!**

**ena****: Don't get used to it; my updates are more likely to be late than early (obviously). Thank you for your support. I shall always remember you as my one-hundredth review.**

**Guest****: Ta-da!**

**Killua17****: Always, darling, always.**

**chisscientist****: There are two different types of jötnar: giants, and Halfkind. The Halfkind, characters such as Loki, Farbauti, Gunnlod, and Mímir are all about human-sized (maybe taller than the average human, but nothing unusual, and Gunnlod is actually very short), while the giants range anywhere from eight to eleven feet tall (mostly depending on gender).**


	9. Mimir the Strange

**I apologize. Profusely. Scrape-my-nose-on-the-floor level apology. And I admit that I wrote this chapter in under an hour because I realized how long it had been since I updated. I'M SORRY. I'M SO, SO SORRY. And I apologize for how short this is, but I thought you guys would rather have a short update now than wait another month for something longer.**

**CHAPTER WARNINGS: Non-graphic depiction of child abuse and some mild language.**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine, I just pretend to know things and write them down!**

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**Chapter Nine: Mímir the Strange**

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_"__Insanity does not run in my family. It strolls through, takes its time, and gets to know everyone personally." _

– Quote by Darynda Jones

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Mímir had heard about Farbauti, not only from Laufey but from everybody else, whether they knew her or not. He had an image of her built up in his mind: she was free spirit, fire on the inside and ice on the outside, quick-witted and authoritative. How his brother had managed to snag her, Mímir wasn't sure (Laufey had been stubbornly resistant about telling that story and Mímir imagined that Farbauti had embarrassed him in some way).

Now that he was seeing her, Mímir wasn't sure what to think. The air of authority was there, as was the icy exterior (_oh_, was the exterior icy) but the fiery spirit seemed absent. But, then again, he could hardly expect her to be overjoyed at the sight of him. He probably hadn't made the best of impressions thus far. He would make excuses, but he knew better than to make apologies about his own personality. The flaws that he had were the flaws that he had, and he would not trip over himself to express regrets while he worked to wheedle them down.

The gaze she pinned him under was cold. "That was quite the entrance you made."

Or maybe he _should_ apologize. Profusely. Should he bow, or..?

"My specialty," said Mímir, making a fluttery motion with one hand. That word seemed to describe him. Fluttery. His head was ever tilting, his whole body swaying. It was an old habit from living on the streets as a youngling that he had never broken. "Sorry about the guard, but really, he's a _palace guard_. He shouldn't have been so easily startled."

Farbauti (or should he call her Queen?) pursed her lips in a very Gunnlod fashion, and Mímir nearly groaned in recognition. He knew Gunnlod, and the situation suddenly made sense. If anybody could turn a mountain girl into a stiff-necked politician, it was Gunnlod. Not that Gunnlod meant any harm by it, but Gunnlod didn't think anything was wrong with that. To Mímir, however, it was practically a crime. Or a terrible shame, at least.

"You should have laughed at that," Mímir blurted out. He knew that he was treading dangerous ground, but if he was thrown out of the palace for insolence, it would be no loss. Everybody knew that the inside was just as dangerous as the outside. The courtiers and mighty men might had holed themselves up in this place, but they were fooling themselves. The radicals that terrorized Utgard were violent, but so was Laufey, and Laufey was unpredictable. Unpredictable violence in a closed space? _That_ was much worse than the radicals could ever be. "The way Laufey described you… you would have thought that was amusing."

There was a flicker of emotion in those deep red eyes, and Mímir knew that he had struck accord with the young queen.

"When I sent summons," she said, "they told me that you had only just returned to Utgard."

"I've been south," Mímir offered in explanation, "on business."

"Gastropnir?"

"Oh, a bit farther south than that," he admitted, making a ducking motion with one hand to gesture southwards. "The farming communities there are having some difficulties, without power from the Casket. Which, I actually would like to talk to you about. I'm not sure it you've received reports from so far away, since communications are down, but–"

There was a shuffle, from behind the chair Farbauti was sitting on. Barely audible, but Mímir's ears pricked up at the sound, and when they did he caught the faint his of shallow breathing. Did Farbauti keep _animals_ in the palace? That wouldn't be unusual at all, but Laufey hadn't been fond of having_ little_ creatures underfoot, and Mímir would be surprised if Laufey would allow anything like a kitlim or a fox to live with him. Although, Mímir thought, considering what he had learned about Farbauti in only the last few minutes, Laufey probably let the woman have whatever she wanted. She _looked_ like the sort who would keep a fox.

For the first time, Farbauti smiled.

"Loki," she said, startling Mímir, "come out and meet your uncle."

Slowly, shyly, a tiny child shuffled out from behind Farbauti's chair and then, in a burst of speed impressive for one so small, scrambled onto Farbauti's lap.

Mímir looked down at the boy –his _nephew_, and wasn't that strange?– and saw a resemblance to Laufey that was almost painful in the sense of loss it brought him. This tiny creature was Laufey's son. Mímir shared blood with this boy. As was his philosophy, Mímir did not care much for what bloodlines might stand for (his sire was a king who nobody respected or even liked and his dam was a swindler and a prostitute, so forgive him if he didn't think much of blood ties), but if he could appreciate that Laufey and Nál were brought to him by bond of blood alone, then he could surely appreciate Loki by the same right.

Especially when Loki looked fearlessly up at him and said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Uncle."

"And it's a delight to meet you, little one, though I didn't know someone as young as you could be brought up to gab like a stiff politician," Mímir said without thinking. And didn't_ that_ make him feel rude? "Apologies. But, by the Gates, Farbauti, he sounds worse than Gunnlod. So damn proper."

It was Gunnlod's voice that answered: "Mímir, you almost make that sound like an insult. It is so pleasing to see you again after so long."

Mímir spun around to face the old woman, who stood at the door with her usual perfect posture. Plastering a look of utter joy on his face, Mímir clapped his hands together in exaggerated glee, being sure to let his claws click together (another habit of his that Gunnlod loathed). "Oh, you noticed I was gone! How… _considerate_ of you."

Gunnlod stepped forward, eyes as unwavering in their judgment of everything as Mímir remembered them being. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Loki snicker behind him.

"You have grown since I saw you last," she said, tone imperious, as if she were the queen instead of Farbauti.

"Yes, well, it _has_ been, oh…" Mímir pretended to think for a moment. "Oh, my, can you _believe_ it? Since Loki was born. I was barely an adult, if even."

"Mímir," Farbauti said, calling his attention back to her, "could you do me the favor of not declaring a feud with my healer? She gets aggressive with her stitches when she goes on crusade."

This time, Mímir was _sure_ that Loki snickered. Oh, no doubt about it._ That_ was _Laufey's_ son.

"No feuding? None at all?" Mímir turned his back on Gunnlod just so he could give Farbauti a withering look. "Damn, there goes all my entertainment."

Farbauti bared her teeth (sharp teeth, sharper than average, and that was the mountain blood showing itself again). "Mímir, if you use such profane language in front of my son again, I will have you exiled."

Mímir smiled a closed-lip smile, the lack of teeth signaling submission. "No, you won't. And he really does sound like Gunnlod, as do you. _Relax_. I'll hold my tongue, if it pleases you."

"It does."

Loki's silence was heavy (children weren't supposed to be so quiet, it just wasn't natural), and Mímir's eyes were naturally drawn to the boy. At first glance, the boy favored his dam, with pitch-black hair and deep red eyes (free of any yellow or orange or even pink; they just dark red, and Mímir had never seen eyes like those), but closer examination revealed that, even at his very young age, Laufey's features shone through. The brow, the nose, the lips, the vibrant azure hue of his skin. Mímir shared the exact same features. They ran strong through the line. Loki's face seemed to favor his dam's in fairness, but maybe that was only a matter of youth. Not that it would be a bad thing for Loki to favor his dam. Laufey wasn't bad to look at, but Farbauti obviously had an advantage over her husband in looks.

He was listening, Mímir realized. That was why the boy was so quiet. With those twitching ears and hooded eyes, Loki was listening to every word being said over his head, and he was figuring things out. His silence made him easy to ignore (to forget), and thusly, people would say nearly anything in front of him. It was too clever.

_Oh, he's going to be trouble, he is._

There was a tension in Mímir's back, just between his shoulder blades, and he knew that Gunnlod was staring at him. He didn't hate Gunnlod, not at all. He loved her, albeit from a safe distance from her claws. While she would never admit it, he knew that she had helped Laufey and Nál meet with him in secret when they were children, and he would forever be grateful for that. Their personalities, however, clashed like bulls. They would either give up in exhaustion or eventually kill each other. Mímir didn't either one of them giving up anytime soon, but he did _not_ want to die.

So he stuck his attention on Farbauti and hoped that Gunnlod would just… go away.

"Why am I here?" he said, deciding to dismiss any pleasantries. Farbauti didn't look like the sort to engage in small talk, but who knew what sort of useless manners Gunnlod had instilled her with? "You must be desperate, to come to _me_ for help."

"You say that as though we are enemies. You have done me no ill and I have nothing against you," Farbauti said, in defense of him or in defense of herself, or both. "You are my husband's brother."

"Half-brother," he reminded her, silently implying every wicked label that had been applied to him.

"I could not care less."

Oh, that was right. No matter how proper and high-class she pretended to be, this woman was from the wild North. Living on the _Eddas_ Gate had to put things into perspective. He could be a reformed _murderer_, and she would not care, as long as he made himself useful and did not relapse into bad behavior. Such was the way you had to live when you dwelled at the door of monsters.

Well. That was… a pleasant sensation.

"The palace is no longer safe," she said, cutting off his musings.

"I could've told you that," Mímir scoffed. "I heard Laufey screaming on the way up here. Not sure what that was about, but the servants looked about ready to lose their wits."

"He killed one of them not long ago. A girl."

Mímir grimaced. He had heard that Laufey was getting worse, but he hadn't realized to what degree. It had been too long since he had been in contact with the palace. He had been so concerned with what he had found in the south, with how bad things had gotten down there, that he had put his family out of his mind.

Family. Mímir looked down at Loki again. Those eyes burned with intelligence to broad for someone so young. _Wonder what side of the family __**that's**__ from_, Mímir thought, resisting the urge to laugh.

"He can't stay here," Mímir said, not taking his eyes off of his nephew.

"No, he cannot," Farbauti conceded.

There was a soft grunt of agreement from Gunnlod and a sharp intake of breath from Loki. Oh, to the boy's ears, this must sound bad. Very bad.

Mímir shook his head. "He can't be separated from you. It's not healthy."

"I was not suggesting it," Farbauti said, and Mímir saw Loki relax in relief. Poor boy, so brave. Bravery was a sad thing to see in one so young. There can't be bravery without fear. "I have been planning to take Loki away from the palace for awhile, but I can only go so far."

"You have to keep in contact with the Council and keep surveillance on Laufey."

"Yes."

"And you're suggesting," Mímir began, and he was taking an educated guess but he was quite sure that he was right, "that I, living so nearby and being family as well, open my doors to you."

A leveling gaze from Farbauti told Mímir that he was wrong on one point: she wasn't _suggesting _anything. She was the queen and the realm was in a state of turmoil and besides that, her child was in danger. She was not suggesting that he give them safe haven. She was _informing_ him that he would.

"I shall…" Mímir wrung his hands together, aware of Gunnlod's gaze on his back again. "I shall make arrangements on my end, if you make your own on your side of the walls."

"Perfect," Farbauti said, tone pleased. Oh, no wonder Laufey married this woman. She was _frightening_.

Well, Mímir could be a bit on the alarming side of unusual, himself. While he didn't like to claim he had inherited anything from his dam, he knew that there was one, special trait that she had passed on to him. She had used it to cheat and deceive, Mímir used it to find the truth. It was a special sight, not like that of the Watchers, who could see as far as other planets, but more of a sight that saw things that were close. Things that were hidden.

"Forgive me," Mímir said, and he couldn't remember the last time he had began a sentence that way, "but considering Laufey's _condition_, I can't help but be curious… Exactly _how long_ have you been with child?"

**oooOOOooo**

Sif wanted to be good and honorable, as her mother taught her, but her mother was dead and her father, as alive as he was, was also a ghost in the back over her mind. Like a blot of ink on paper, his presence spread, invading every crevice of her brain, filling her thoughts. It was wrong. The fear made her sick in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth tasted of ash and her nose was always stuffed with the scent of mead and soured laundry.

Golden braces covered the bruises on her arms, and powder did well enough to cover the ones on her face. Bruises appeared to merely be shadows under her eyes, and Sif looked tired, like she had gone nights without sleep. She was so afraid that someone would know, would tell her father, because Sif knew what he would do to her if she let someone find out, but the ladies of the court only clucked disapprovingly and did not question her shadowed eyes.

She spoke her fears into Thor's ear when her father wasn't looking. Fandral, older than both of them, stood like a shield between them and the courtiers, using his social standing and his everlasting charm to turn away searching eyes and distract listening ears. Before she went home, Thor pressed the flat blade of a dagger against her palm, and Sif could have wept for relief. A lady as she was had never used a dagger or any other sort of weapon in her perfect, pampered life, but she knew how to hold it, at least. She had seen the boys doing that before. It was only for protection, she told herself. The threat of a dagger was enough– surely, she wouldn't have to use it? And what was the meaning of good and honorable when her foe was neither?

One night, her father came to her room, and Sif took the dagger out from under her pillow. Good and honorable were complex concepts for a child so young, but Sif supposed that self-defense could not possibly be wrong.

The threat of a dagger is nothing to a drunken man. He moved without fear and Sif wielded the dagger as she had seen the sparring boys do, and when there was blood on the floor in on the bed and in her golden hair, she ran.

Heimdall found her.

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**Fun Fact: Heimdall is Sif's brother (sort of, ish, because he had multiple mothers and one of them was Sif's mother and ugh it's so weird) in Norse mythology. Obviously, they're not related in the MCU, but I thought I should just hint at a familial bond between them with that last line. A sibling relationship doesn't seem all that unrealistic to me.**

**Armand****: And the next chapter is here. Thank you for reviewing, my most loyal minion.**

**a.k.a. T.R****: I ****_AM_**** BACK! Keep your goggles on and hold on to your suspenders, because the feels are coming.**

**Priest of Pain****: Wow, your review really made me smile. And, as far as the baby being assassinated… who knows? But there are definitely conspiracies within this story, so keep a sharp eye.**

**Silvermane1****: Thank you.**

**ena****: I'm glad to have made your day! Good luck finding all of your lost bookmarked stories.**

**travellerofadifferentpath****: Thor ****_is_**** a lost puppy. I wanted to show him that way before he grows up to be an arrogant teenager.**

**lillelouis****: Thank you, thank you.**

**guest****: That great, eh?**

**jayjay****: I never abandon a story, no matter how long I go without updating.**

**guest****: You need some sleep, dear, but thank you for reviewing, even if it was in a sleep-deprived state.**


	10. Mimir's Well

**Finally, a chapter from Loki's point of view.**

**Also, the previous chapter was the first chapter not edited by ****aylithe****, who is a wonderful editor and just generally a wonderful person. That said, I decided to give her a break from editing my work so that she could do her own things and not worry about her story. She has her own work to do and I need to get better at doing my own editing.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I never shall, for I am naught but a lowly college student.**

**FIND THE NORSE MYTHOLOGY EASTER EGGS IN THIS CHAPTER, FOR THERE ARE MANY.**

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**Chapter: Mímir's Well**

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_Far away, at the edge of the world  
There lies a well of stars that swirls  
Guarded by he who sees the fate  
of the ones who the sons of Muspel hate_

– Excerpt from "Mímisbrunnr" a song by Northsong

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The palace and its surroundings were cracked and crumbling. Structurally sound, yes, or the royal family would never have been allowed to stay there, no matter Laufey's condition. But it was battered and showing the scars of Asgard's attack. It stood, as one of the tallest structures in Utgard, at the very center of the city. For all that the palace had once been grand, though, it was _nothing_ compared to the whole of Utgard.

Utgard was not only the capitol of Jotunheim, but also the largest city in the realm. It stretched on and on, big enough to support its population of millions and still have plenty of room left over (this was not to mention that a great deal of the city extended for miles underground). But the city was unique in that it was completely, from top to bottom, made of stone. Not of stone blocks or bricks or slabs, but of stone that had shaped itself into a city. It was seamless and free of the grain made by chisels and carving tools. The whole city was made from one massive piece of stone. Such was the power of the Casket of Ancient Winters, which had pulled and pushed and shaped the rock like clay. It was an architect's dream, to be sure.

Once, it had glowed. When the Casket's power had pulsed through the stone and powered everything, the carvings on the stone walls had lit up, green and red and blue and purple, shining and moving and lighting up the night. Now the stone was dead and dull and did not shine, and the final battle with the Aesir had left the palace in shambles.

The city was full of noise. Music and voices and the harsh strikes of horse's hooves against stone and the clang of metal on metal. It rose up and became a murmur above the city, like the sound of a distant river, and Loki had listened to that sound all his life.

Finally, he was leaving the palace and would see the city that he had always lived in but never touched.

"Don't bring many guards," Uncle Mímir said to Dam, eyeing the armored giants critically. "And don't let them walk too close. If you have them flanking you, everyone will notice you and we won't get home before the sun rises."

Dam looked at Mímir, and then at the guards, and then at Mímir again before conceding to his point and dismissing more than half the guards. Loki felt a relief in their absence. He knew each and every one of them by name, and could ask them all about their families and remember the names of their spouses and children, but they had always been a reminder that he was never safe, not even in his own home.

_It will be different now. It will be different._

They were in the courtyard, still within the protection of the palace walls but under an open sky. Loki had once enjoyed playing there and in the gardens, until Laufey became more likely to prowl the lower levels, effectively cutting off access. Today, though, Laufey was being distracted so that they could leave in peace. Leave. They were really leaving. Loki had always wanted to leave the palace, but he hadn't thought it would be like this. He had wanted to be able to come back home at the end of the day. One day, of course, he _would_ come back here, but not for awhile, he imagined. All of this fuss wasn't for a short trip. They were leaving and would not be returning for the foreseeable future.

Loki yawned and tried not to think about it. Surprisingly, that was easy – he was _tired_. It was the middle of the night, which was good and fine for all of the adults with their bright eyes, but Loki couldn't see much in the dark and he was more than ready for bed. And if he couldn't go to bed, well, then he at least wanted daylight. Thankfully, his problem had been anticipated and a lamp had been lit, for his sake. What the lamp showed him, he did not like.

They called it a horse. Loki was sure that it was a monster.

Uncle Mímir looked down at Loki, arms crossed and brightly-colored robes swaying in the light breeze. "Ever ridden a horse before, youngling?"

"No, Uncle," Loki answered, shaking his head._ I want to go to sleep and forget all of this, please. Can we not wait until tomorrow to make this journey?_

He wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to ride a horse, either. It was a black beast with a white mane and tail, gracefully shaped and strong in its build, but it was too _big _for Loki's comfort, snorting hot huffs of air and stamping all eight of its legs like it was just waiting to trample anything or anyone underfoot. And he would be just the right size to crush under those hooves, Loki thought, eyeing the horse nervously. No, he did not want to get within reach of this animal, much less get on its back.

"Well." Mímir rolled his eyes, and Loki once again got the feeling that his new uncle disapproved of something. "You're very fortunate to be Halfkind, because giants are too big to ride horses."

For the first time in his life, Loki wanted to be a giant.

The horse's lips pulled back to reveal its gleaming teeth, which it clacked loudly. Loki, knowing better than to think his claws could pierce that black hide, curled his fingers into his palms and took a step back. Mímir did not seem to notice.

"But this is Svaðilfari." Mímir patted the horse's flank fondly. "I usually use him for work at the well, since he's not much of a traveling horse, but since we're only going a short distance, he'll do. Come along, I'll help you up."

Loki did not _want _to be helped up. He did not want up at _all_.

Dam, for her part, seemed quite pleased with the horse, smiling more than she had since Mímir came to visit (and if Loki felt somewhat betrayed by the fact that she seemed to like this monster, he kept that to himself).

"I have not ridden in ages," she said, admiring the beast and allowing it to nibble on her hair. Loki shuddered to see those terrible teeth so close to his dam, but she didn't push the animal away. In fact, she pressed a soft kiss to its long face before moving to its side and raising one bare foot to catch the stirrup with her claws.

"Be careful," Mímir warned her even as she hoisted herself expertly up onto the saddle. "You're still early on. Not nearly to term, yet. It's not good to jostle you too much."

The smile vanished and Dam gave Mímir a glare that was too much like Gunnlod's. "I'm with child, not made of glass."

Loki's ears twitched. He knew what 'with child' meant. Mímir and Dam had exchanged some rather heated words about it earlier, not to mention the fuss that Gunnlod had kicked up, but it seemed to be true. Mímir had a variation of Sight, and he had seen that Dam was expecting. Loki, for his part, wasn't exactly sure what to think. It had never occurred to him that he would have a sibling (then again, it had never occurred to him that he would have an uncle, so perhaps he should broaden his thoughts on the matter of potential family members). What would it change? What would Sire say, when he found out? Would it be a brother or a sister?

Maybe it was too early to be having those kinds of thoughts. Mímir and Gunnlod had both been very concerned, as if the babe inside his Dam were a spark that would sputter out into smoke if the wind blew against her too harshly.

With that in mind, Loki decided to remain neutral on the matter until things were surer; more settled. He did not want to get upset _or _excited for something that might not happen at all (although something about the idea of that spark truly dying made him feel disappointed). And he had this _ridiculous_ animal to worry about in the meantime.

"Fine," Mímir said, tone of voice not complying with his words. "Loki, what's the matter with you? Svaðilfari's a good horse. He won't let you fall."

Loki shook his head and took one more resolute step away from the _creature_. If Dam wanted to endanger her life on the back of some animal, then that was her business. Loki didn't want anything to do with it.

Mímir was about to say something else, only for Dam to speak first.

"Loki," she said, "come along. You will like it, I promise. I loved riding horses when I was your age. I had a horse just like this one."

And _that_ got Loki's attention.

Maybe it wouldn't be _so_ bad…?

_I can at least try_, Loki thought, and he knew that with that very thought, he had lost the battle.

Sighing in defeat, Loki lifted his hands for Mímir to hoist him up by, and in a heave of movement, Loki found himself on the horse's back, seated right in front of his dam. Out of instinct or fear or both, Loki's hands flashed to grip Svaðilfari's white mane. The horse barely shifted, but Loki felt it. There were over two thousand pounds of muscle under him that he had absolutely no control over, and if that didn't make him feel small, well, nothing did.

"Good boy, Svaðilfari," Mímir said in hushed tones, petting the horse's muzzle. "You're doing well, Loki. Just learn to hold on for now and one day I'll teach you how to ride on your own."

There was a short spread of time in which they just waited there, but it went by in a haze through Loki's eyes. His excitement was building as he realized that _today_ was the day, the time was _now_; he would be stepping outside the place he had called home for as long as he could remember. Svaðilfari seemed to sense Loki's excitement and began to paw the ground, prancing a bit before being pulled into a standing position by Dam's expert command over the reins. Oh, maybe this was good, or maybe horrible, but it was new, and Loki hadn't realized how much he had been yearning for change until it was staring him right in the face. It was frightening, yes, but it was the best thing he had felt in ages. Not that he had lived for ages, what with how young he was, but it felt like ages to him.

The doors opened, and they rode into the city that Loki had always lived in but never seen.

What little Loki could see in the dark was colorful and moving. No, not moving. _Surging_. Red eyes of all shades flashed up at him, and he could feel the pull and push of the crowds like the tide on the shore. There was so much noise, but so much of it was music and cried and warped the air like magic, and Loki finally understood why his dam was so eager for his eyes to settle; she wanted him to see this. Come daylight, the city would go quiet, but this was night, and it was beautiful beyond words, and Loki wanted to be a part of it.

Loki strained to see as much as he could as they rode along. Being tired didn't help, but he gave it his best effort and managed to catch murky shadows and flashes of color. In the cacophony of noise, Loki thought that he heard his dam laugh, but he wasn't sure. And then they stopped, and in the faint light of twin crescent moons, Loki saw the silhouette of a building far too big to be one man's home.

"Ages ago, when Gunnlod was young, some old Seer had this well built," Mímir told them as they broke free of the crowds and neared the hulking shadow. "Everyone thought he was crazy, building something that didn't run off the Casket's power, but now it's the only reason we have running water. I suppose he saw that the city would need it."

It wasn't half as big as the palace, or half of half, but it was still plenty big and new and unexplored and different from anything that Loki had ever known.

_Perfect_, he thought.

"King Ymir may not have cared for me," Mímir continued, and Loki knew _that_ story, too, "and he may not have been a good man, but no one could say that he wasn't generous. This place is my home, now, though I've been running business out of it for ages. The well requires some upkeep, so there are workers on hand, but they're all trustworthy."

As Mímir helped them dismount, Dam said something to this that Loki couldn't hear, but he imagined that she was saying that she would be checking up on all the _trustworthy workers_.

"We have neighbors who are members of the Council, so there will be familiar faces around," Mímir said as they approached the doorway of his home. "Your steward lives here when he's not at the palace. His son is older than Loki, but Skrýmir won't mind and Loki seems clever enough to keep up with the boy."

Loki ducked his head to his the blush that heated his cheeks. There were two lamps at the door of Mímir's home, so Loki easily made his way up the stairs without stumbling in the dark. The marbled stone pleased his eyes, and when Mímir pushed the door open for them, Loki breathed in the smell of spices and fresh water from the well. Oh, yes, he liked this. He liked it very much.

"And Borr lives right there, just up the road, you see? He has two sons, Vili and Vé. They're about Loki's age."

"See, Loki?" Dam squeezed Loki's hand in hers as they took their first steps into Mímir's home–_ their _home. "This is much better than the palace."

Loki wasn't completely sure of that yet, but with what he had learned thus far, he had to agree.

_Does this mean I am allowed to __**sleep**__, now?_

**oooOOOooo**

Thor was a good deal older than Sif, and Fandral was older than Thor by some years, and Volstagg was much older than all of them by decent measure, but Asgardians lived so long that they knew better than to part themselves by age. So that was why, when Sif was proclaimed innocent in the matter of her father's death (well, everyone knew she had killed him, but everyone also knew _why_), and brought to live in Odin's palace (for this was Heimdall's request, and Odin would never deny Heimdall anything within reason), the three boys invited Sif to sit with them when they joined for meals.

They all knew what had happened. They talked about everything_ except_ for that.

Sif, who had once taken great pride in her golden hair that everyone complimented so often, pinned her hair back in as plain a fashion as she could and refused to decorate it any longer. For too long had she been judged for her looks. Now that she had defended herself, she wanted to be more. She did not want to be judged at all, but she _would_ be judged, and she knew it, so she made the decision to be judged on her own terms.

"Teach me to fight," Sif said.

Thor brought her to the sparring circle and taught her how to build her strength, while Volstagg taught her to balance and hold steady and Fandral taught her how to hold a sword and move her feet. Had she been any other girl, they might have said no, but she was Sif, and they knew she had already slain an enemy. She had done so unprepared, and they would not let her fight again without training (and she would certainly fight again, as was her nature now that the circle of deceit was broken).

She went to visit Heimdall often, and he never spoke a word of it, but there was a pride in his eyes that had never been in her father's.

Frigga was very fond of Sif, and more understanding than anyone else had been. She did not try to force ribbons into Sif's hair or tell her off for learning how to use a sword. She was simply kind, and often indulged in Sif's company. Sif, as young as she was, had learned to have sharp eyes, and she knew that Queen Frigga was still very hurt from the loss of the princess. Sif, of course, could not know the pain of losing a child, but she knew the pain of loss very well indeed, and she was not so prideful that she would not admit that to Frigga. When she did, Frigga through all pretenses away and held Sif close, and for the first time since she used that dagger, Sif allowed herself to cry.

Like much of everything else, they never spoke of it, but they never forgot.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Fun Fact: In Norse Mythology, Odin sacrificed his eye so that he could drink from ****_Mímisbrunnr_****, which gave him great wisdom.**

**Silvermane1****: I rather thought so myself.**

**Nyx Ro****: Oh, no, no, no, I love Sif.**

**PeaceHeather****: Yes, I really did enjoy writing Sif's segment that way. I'll probably be doing more of that.**

**Lokiismylife****: Good, I'm glad.**

**Armand****: Ooh, I'll have to use that.**


	11. A Small Voice

**I'm sorry for not updating for so long, but I've spent a long time trying to get this story organized and planned-out so that I won't get stuck anymore. This chapter is short because I wanted to post something to get myself back on track and back into the habit of posting chapters. I swear, the chapters will start bulking up soon. Or at least****_ speeding_**** up.**

**Also, for those of you who can't suss it out immediately, there's a bit of a time jump between the last chapter and this one.**

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**Chapter Eleven: A Small Voice**

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_And, behold, the __L__ord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the __L__ord; but the __L__ord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the __L__ord was not in the earthquake:_ _And after the earthquake, a fire; but the __L__ord was not in the fire:_

_And after the fire, a still, small voice._

– 1 Kings 19:11-12 (KJV)

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Ice and snow crunched noisily under Svaðilfari's hooves, glittering under the luminescence of the two moons. Loki's eyes, finally settled and adjusted to the dark of night, glanced sharply across the star-studded field. The noise of Utgard rose up behind him like the crashing of waves, music and traffic cresting and ebbing and cresting again against the city's high, protective walls. To the west, the River Ifing rumbled thunderously.

_"__Do you know what magic is, Loki?"_

The young prince took a shuddering breath of air that was so crisply frigid that it stung his lungs. Svaðilfari snorted, blasting a white puff of condensation into the dark emptiness. The night was clear for the first time since Deep Winter came, and there was a startlingly clear view of the cosmos above. It was perfect. Loki curled his fingers into the horse's white mane and touched his bare toes to pitch black sides, urging his mount forward a few steps.

_"__Yes, I have – __**I've**__ read about it."_

There was a moment of in-between, of being poised on the edge, before Loki leaned forward, squeezing his knees around Svaðilfari's middle, and the stallion bolted into the glittering expanse.

_"__It started when Shiloh created the universe."_

_"__I know__** this**__ story, Uncle Mímir!"_

_"__I know you do, and you're going to listen to it again, so shush."_

Snow was scattered by flying hooves. The freezing wind split before the horse and rider, whistling as they rode, carrying the upset snow with it. They broke the flawlessly smooth field and drew a straight path through it. They surged forward into the brilliant night, following the pale moon closest to the horizon. They needed no guide and no map. They knew their stars. They knew that the River Ifing was to the west, and that Gastropnir was to the south, and that the smaller moon would set between those two points.

_"__Shiloh made every kind of creature in the universe differently, but the creatures of Yggdrasil were made from the elements. He made the first Midgardians out of earth, and first Vanir from the wood of a tree, and the first Alfar were captured from light and air, but the jötnar? We were carved out of ice and stone."_

Loki urged Svaðilfari on, faster and faster, away from all the noise of civilization and even the roar of the River Ifing. He panted, lungs aching with icy cold air as he clung to Svaðilfari's bare back. The horse's withers coiled and quivered with exertion, and every breath was loud and desperate, but there was no drag in the horse's strides. Excitement thrummed through both bodies, driving them to ignore whatever pains their efforts caused for them. The night was clear for the first time in months, and it was _theirs_.

_"__Shiloh gave us great gifts, Loki. If you have the patience to learn it, there is a great power that can be accessed. There is no power within you yourself, remember. All power comes from Shiloh. But you must learn to __**wield**__ that power for yourself, and great things can be done through you."_

They slowed, finally coming to a stop. Utgard's constant noise of life was hardly any more than a whisper on the wind and the River Ifing's roar was a low, indistinct hum. Loki dismounted and Svaðilfari groaned dramatically, pawing the snow. They both observed the night sky. As dark as Jotunheim was, a clear night brought even better light than a clear day, for the inky black was thick with stars and gave an excellent view Yggdrasil's bright, winding branches.

_"__What great things, Uncle?"_

Loki sat down in the snow, completely disregarding the temperature as Svaðilfari laid down next to him with a heavy _whumph_, scattering loose snow. He fished a lump of marble from his pocket and held it up to the moonlight. It gleamed softly, showing off its pale, glittering base and dark, dappled pattern. The stone was mostly dead, Loki knew, but it still had just enough glow to it to catch the eye. Nobody really ever talked about it, but everyone knew that the stone had been dying ever since the Casket was taken. Everything was slowly,_ slowly_ dying. Even the dirt was dying, which meant that eventually the crops and the grass and the trees would die, and that meant that all the animals would die, which meant… well. _Well_.

_"__Have you never seen your dam create ice? Or move stone?"_

It melted under his fingers, moving as he pleased. Loki frowned in concentration, using his magic to manipulate the rock, nudging it this way and that before creasing it with texture. Svaðilfari nickered curiously as the stone took a new shape in Loki's hands. Loki pinched his claws into the soft rock to coax a mane and tail from the shape, to make soft grooves where ribs were prominent, to smooth the neck and nose into royal arches. A stone horse, finished, sat in Loki's palm. He had been practicing ever since Mímir had taught him how to make the stone move, but this was the first time that he was satisfied with his work.

_"__You can do that as well, if you __**listen**__. The city is loud. But if you shut out all the earthly noise and listen __**here**__, with your soul instead of your ears, then you'll hear more. And you might hear the ice, or the stone, or even Shiloh."_

He showed it to Svaðilfari, who snuffled the stone figurine and huffed out his approval. Loki smiled, tucked the stone horse back into his pocket, and leaned back against Svaðilfari's bulk to take in the expanse of sky above. With only the soft hush of their breathing and the warm, dull beat of Svaðilfari's heart to be heard, Loki closed it all out and listened to the silence.

_"__The greatest of things, Loki, if they are truly great, do not need to shout to make themselves heard."_

**oooOOOooo**

Sif dangled her legs over the edge of the Rainbow Bridge, watching the stars slowly turn between her boots. She wasn't afraid of falling – she never had been, especially not since Heimdall had made himself her unofficial guardian. Unofficial. Ha. Everyone knew the Heimdall had claimed himself to be her personal guardian and no one dared to touch her, except for Thor and Queen Frigga. And, well, Fandral, but Fandral would do just about anything Thor did. Volstagg was slightly more cautious of her, but Sif believed that was simply because Volstagg was well and afraid of Heimdall's Sight. _He can't really see and hear everything_, Sif wanted to tell them, but she refrained. It was much too fun to watch them all squirm.

When Thor clomped down the stretch of glimmering Rainbow Bridge with Fandral trailing not far behind, Sif did not even look up. She simply smiled at her boots.

"They want Mother to have another babe," Thor informed Sif grimly, or as grimly as he could manage. He wasn't very good at it.

He sat down beside her, swinging his legs freely off the side of the Rainbow Bridge just to show that he was as brave as she was. Sif rolled her eyes. Fandral came around and settled at Sif's other side, but did not bother to pretend he was as brave as her – he tucked his legs safely away from the edge and leaned on her shoulder.

"By _they_, you mean the court?" Sif asked, although she didn't really _need_ to ask to know it was what Thor meant. Only the court would dare demand such a thing, and only the court would matter. "I _did_ tell you so."

_But I didn't __**believe**__ you then_, Thor thought, but of course he couldn't say that.

"But she only just lost–" Fandral started to say, and then hushed himself. Thor's sister was a subject best not broached, unless they wanted awkwardness between them.

"It was awhile ago," Thor corrected with an inelegant shrug.

"But what if it happens again?" Fandral asked.

Thor frowned at his friend over the top of Sif's head. "_Does_ that happen?"

"Sometimes," Sif murmured, giving her legs and extra-hard kick into the air. She had been one of many sisters, once. All sisters. They had all died. Not like Thor's sisters, but, still… she remembered other families with such troubles. It was all mostly avoidable now, but sometimes… pregnancies went bad and babes that would get sick without reason and wither away before even a season had passed. And nobody wanted to talk about it. "It is not common, but… sometimes."

Fandral pressed his lips together and focused on the toes of his boots while Thor looked sick. Sif was almost sorry for having said anything, but she thought Thor deserved to know. For all the time Thor spent in the palace and among the court, it didn't seem like they bothered to tell him much there. _Sif _knew more, and she was so much younger than he that it was almost embarrassing.

"Where's Volstagg?" Sif asked, trying to turn the conversation.

"Waiting for us," offered Fandral. "We came to bring you back. It _is_ mealtime, you know. Volstagg saved us a place to sit with him."

_Good_, Sif thought, and she didn't have to say it. When she couldn't be with Heimdall, she felt better with Volstagg. Volstagg was not a fully grown man, not yet, but maybe that was why she felt partial to him. That, and he had taught her to defend herself, which was a

"Your friend is waiting for you, children."

"What do you see, good Heimdall?" Thor asked.

"Everything, my prince," said Heimdall.

Thor whined in frustration, coaxing the Gatekeeper to smile. "_Heim_dall!"

Heimdall chuckled: a deep, rumbling sound in his chest. He kneeled to be closer to the children, but he tilted his face to the sky, tracing a branch of Yggdrasil and searching out a distant, glittering planet that had once been dear and familiar and often looked upon.

"Jotunheim is shadowed, nearly beyond my sight, but I do see… I see new life, soft and small and yet unborn, but shining. Brighter than any star."

Sif reached back and placed a palm on Heimdall's knee. "… And what do you _hear_, Heimdall?"

For a moment, Heimdall did not answer. He reached with his Sight, straining to catch one last glimpse of Jotunheim, begging that the distant planet might answer him as to why he had lost her from view. Shadows swept over his vision like dark waves on the shore, obscuring his last view of the young prince riding through the snow on an eight-legged horse. His Sight rebelled,_ demanding_ to _See_, but Jotunheim was finally so far out of reach that he could See no more. The Sight strained in confusion, memory knowing that it ought to be able to see and laboring against its blindness.

Stillness. The boy, the prince who he had struggled to watch, was so very still, and so very quiet, just listening, and Heimdall listened too, wondering what he might hear that the boy wanted so much.

"A still, small voice."

**oooOOOooo**

The jötnar were as civilized as a sentient species might claim to be, but they were not often seen that way. Other peoples often shied away from them, although it was rare that any of them could speak an honest reason as to why. But they usually said that the jötnar were 'uncivilized'. Beasts, was often the word. Warlike was another, although that word could well and accurately be applied to many, like Chitauri, or the Kree, and even they were not as looked down upon as the inhabitants of Jotunheim.

Loki, of course, had no way of knowing this beyond what he had heard from his elders, since he had never met an outsider. He had never seen or touched or even _comprehended_ a physical and sentient being that was not jötunn. He knew of their existence, but what of it? King Odin of Asgard, by his right and power of Allfather in Yggdrasil, had locked the atmosphere. No one could come or go by any means without special permission or by the Bifrost, which… well, that would never happen. Not if half of what Loki knew about Asgard was true.

Still, though, Loki, having entered the population of Utgard after a childhood of partial isolation, felt himself to be an outsider of sorts. He was welcomed and respected and treated well among his people, who would one day be his subjects, but he saw them through the eyes of someone who knew all the facts of reality but had never quite touched. And he observed in them a rawness that did not seem to conform with what books defined 'civilized' to be. It was biting, wild note that sang through every atom that was Jotunheim and all its creatures. It was why, even when the Casket powered everything, they still kept their hand-craftings so dear. It was why so many still lived in the wilderness even though every luxury could have been theirs, had they so wished it. It was why the shepherds on the plains kept to the same migrations that the wild herds did. It was why they put aside their weapons and their tools and would hunt by tooth and claw and strength alone.

Loki knew that this raw nature was within him, as well. He saw it, so clearly now that they were away from the palace, in his dam. Mímir, perhaps, had coaxed it out of her, with his own disregard for etiquette and social niceties. Gunnlod had demanded she keep it restrained and be what all the other queens were, but Farbauti was shrugging off her bonds of royalty as the child inside her grew. Oh, yes, the pregnancy.

A day on Jotunheim was long. And there were thirty-seven days in on cycle of the moon, and they all added up to thirteen months in a year. It would take all thirteen months before the new child could be born.

Seven months had passed since Loki and Farbauti had taken shelter in Mímir's home. Farbauti's pregnancy was showing, and no longer a secret from the public. Loki, as if in preparation to car for the new addition to the family, had suddenly started growing at a surprisingly rapid rate. He was still visibly small for his age, thin around the legs and ribs and as delicately built as a warm season bird, but he was growing tall. Unfortunately, the growth spurt had brought with it unpleasantness. Loki, who had ever grown slowly but steadily, was suddenly as uncoordinated as a newborn foal, trying and failing to adjust to lanky legs that wouldn't settle. Even his fingers, it seemed, had betrayed him. Once deft, they know fumbled and ached with growth.

Loki now sat astride Svaðilfari's back as often as he could, unwilling to humiliate himself by stumbling clumsily through the streets. That, too, was a new development on his part – pride. Pride, and worry, and uncertainty, and responsibility. He was growing on the inside as much as he was on the outside, he discovered, and a higher sense of self-awareness was soaking his mind to the point of drowning. All in just seven months.

It would to be silly to say that Farbauti hadn't noticed the change. Seven months, to a jötunn, is barely anything at all, and to see her son change so drastically in so little time was… almost disturbing. Certainly worrying. Mímir said that it was exposure that did it. Having to think so little about other people outside of his own private circle was something that Loki, as uncannily clever as he had always been, had never had to do before. Now he had to think about so much more, and he was adapting so quickly that it almost seemed unnatural.

As they had yet to discover, though, it was less unnatural as was... necessary.

**oooOOOooo**

A broken, blood-streaked mirror shifted under Laufey's shaking fingers. There were new cuts on his face, but no new aging lines. That didn't mean much, not at his age, but at least he knew that he hadn't managed to get old while he was under. Which meant that Farbauti was still young as well, and Loki could not have grown so much if Farbauti was still young, could he?

Laufey's voice was terribly hoarse, but he managed to make himself heard when he called for aid. A young servant, a Halfkind man with rare, brown hair, was almost immediately at Laufey's side, supporting the shocked giant to the best of his ability. Which, at his size in comparison to Laufey, wasn't much, but it was still a relief to Laufey.

"Where is my wife?" Laufey rasped, clutching at the man's robes. "Where is my son?"

The man's whole face softened. "They… they left, my king. They are with your brother, Mímir. Most of the guards and the servants left when they did, if you're wondering, and Council hasn't been held here in months, so… there are only the few of us who come here and make sure you are taken care of, sir."

"Mímir?" Laufey's mind scrambled, searching for his half-brother's face and remembering. Mímir, that little brat, who painted his heritage lines with bright colors even months away from a Festus, just to scandalize dear Gunnlod. "Good. _Good_. Mímir will take care of them."

"Shall I send word to the queen?" asked the man. "Oh, here, now, sit down. That will help, I am sure."

"Yes." Laufey allowed himself to be lowered onto blood-stained furs, when he sat and trembled with exertion, wondering what in Yggdrasil his body was doing while he wasn't in control of it that made him so exhausted whenever he regained his senses. "Oh, _Shiloh_, help me…"

The room, although it was mostly empty, was in shambles. The furs the covered the stone floor were bloodied and torn. Two of the three mirrors on the far wall were shattered, shards scattered around the room, while the third one was cracked beyond the point of being functional as a mirror. The window, which should have been closed in this chill, was wide open and allowing snow to drift in.

_This place is as broken as my mind_, Laufey thought, and it was enough to make him begin to shake again, but the man patted his shoulder in an effort to comfort. It was a lovely effort, Laufey supposed, even if it didn't do much good.

"Do I know you?" Laufey asked.

"Yes, my king. I am…" He paused, folding his slim hands pensively as he looked the broken king over. "Do you not recognize me, my lord?"

Laufey squinted. Even his eyes ached, but could see well enough, and the man's features did seem to pull at some memory, even if it was a distant one. Something about him was reminiscent of Gunnlod, even if there was no exact resemblance that could be seen between them, and there was… there was… oh, yes, the brown hair. That was so uncommon. Laufey could remember _seeing_ that, at least. Nothing specific, but he could say that he recalled the man's presence.

"I remember you," Laufey confirmed.

The man's lashes flick slightly over eyes that searched, and seemed to find what they were looking for. Finally, he smiled at Laufey.

"And what a relief that is," he said, and reached into his robes to pull out a bottle and hold it out to Laufey. "Here, drink. Your voice sounds simply dreadful. Are you uncomfortable?"

Laufey did not deign to answer, instead focusing on stilling the tremors in his hands and uncorking the bottle. He brought it to his lips and felt the cool relief of something sweet and medicinal and soothing on his throat. He drank, perhaps too much to be had all at once, before finally pausing to answer the question. Although, Laufey thought, it was a very foolish question. There he was, shaking and bleeding on the floor, and he was being asked if he was _uncomfortable_? Of course he was uncomfortable.

But the answer slipped. He opened his mouth, and the words garbled themsleve before they could come up, and – and – what was he trying to say? He wanted to… answer a question…. Who had asked him? Ask? Ask what? Who asked?

Who…?

Red eyes burned and the giant king _roared_.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**ladymacbeth99****: Well, it's very fun to write. I actually like researching the myths and figuring out how to make them fit in this world. Also, I started reading your story, "The Prisoner" and I am absolutely enchanted by it so far.**

**Silvermane1****: Oh, thank you, thank you *bows regally***

**mybonded****: Yes, Loki and Mímir do have similar personalities, sometimes.**

**Saramagician****: No offence taken- what I had written before was the completely embarrassing material of someone who hadn't had enough practice and wasn't used to the wonderful feeling of getting decent feedback. I'm very happy to be rewriting the story and I'm glad that you're enjoying this version.**


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